Inconvenient Mistletoe
by Coal15
Summary: Ichabod and Abbie are great at ignoring the elephant in the room, but then there's mistletoe. Then *vivid* dreams. Ichabod decides he's done ignoring, and confronts Abbie head on. Some sweetness, some smut. Post - Honeymoon Chapter just added.
1. Inconvenient Mistletoe

*****I've updated this series to correct a few minor errors and smooth out some language.*****

If you don't look at an elephant in the room, or even talk about it, it's not there. No elephant. Not even a teeny one. Luckily, fighting the armies of doom full time made it easy to ignore just about anything without even realizing it.

Abbie and Ichabod's proverbial elephant could probably go unnoticed if it grew to the size of fucking Godzilla. Nothing derailed their routine. Fight, fight, fight, banter, banter, bloodshed, bond, detective stuff, more fighting, and sometimes a second of downtime.

Enter mistletoe.

The previous year was different. They were still getting to know one another. It would have been too awkward. But now they were such good friends it would be weird not to do it-what's a tiny little peck on the mouth between friends, after all? The mistletoe doesn't expect full on making out or groping. A quick smooch, and you're done. No biggie.

Officer Rankin always threw great Christmas parties. Casual. Like, 'beer in red plastic cups' casual. A great way to shake off the stress of cop life.

Abbie and Ichabod were chatting on the back porch. Ichabod remarked (again) on the ubiquity of plastic in the modern world as they wandered to the railing to set down their cups. It was only them and a small huddle of people at the far end of the yard outside.

Katrina was elsewhere with a few witch friends she'd managed to meet since her escape from the horseman. They'd all agreed to spend as little time as possible focused on, or talking about, the Apocalypse during the holiday.

Nope. 'Twas the season to pretend life was mellow.

Being a witch, Katrina's winter rituals were mostly unrelated to the traditional trappings of an American Christmas, so Ichabod understood completely when she asked if he'd mind her not attending Rankin's party.

"We needn't be joined in all things, my love. You sing to the moon, I shall drink nog. Apologies in advance if I stumble home a fool." They both knew he wasn't generally the type to overindulge, but there had been a few occasions when a festive mood ran away with his better judgment. Better to cover his bases than risk an irate wife.

So Abbie and Ichabod found themselves leaning on a porch railing by themselves, breezily meandering from one topic to the next. The miracle of airplanes, a vivid description of 18th century dentistry (terrifying), various errors in modern historical education, etc.

Abbie tossed her head back to laugh at something Ichabod said-and there it was. Mistletoe.

"Of course," she said with a sigh.

Ichabod followed her upward gaze. "Ah." He clasped his hands behind his back. "And we so carefully avoided the other two." He half-grinned down at her. "It appears we are trapped. So what to do?" The question was asked without a hint of tension or nervousness. Friend to friend

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Oh, what the hell." She'd gotten to know Katrina pretty well, and felt confident the woman wouldn't mind her sharing an innocent, tradition-mandated little kiss with her husband.

Ichabod began to lean down toward her, but paused halfway there. "May I make an observation first?"

"Um . . . okay."

He smiled. "You are comically tiny."

She smirked, her dark eyes lit with fun. "Yeah? Well you're comically _old_. Can we please get this over with?"

Ichabod nodded as he closed the remaining distance between them, his right hand resting lightly at her midsection, the way a fifteen year old boy would do for an end-of-first-date kiss. His left hand remained behind his back.

Abbie's arms hung at her sides, relaxed as loose thread.

Their lips met in exactly the chaste manner of the usual 'mistletoe moment," but things changed instantly. Neither of them attempted to deepen the kiss, but both leaned into the contact. Ichabod gasped involuntarily. Abbie rose up on her toes just the slightest bit, her upper lip sliding between Ichabod's as their mouths softened against one another.

He tilted his head to the left, and slid his hand down her side. The other hand remained behind his back, twitching as though uncertain how to behave. Wrap around her? Pull her into a full embrace?

_Absolutely not!_

He knew if he let that happen there would be no stopping. The moment would become un-changeably passionate, and he'd be helpless. He mustered up all his restraint and pulled away just far enough to speak. His lips still brushed against hers as he spoke, they were so close. "This may have been a terrible idea," he whispered.

"Uh-huh," Abbie breathed in response, unable to recall a time when such a tame kiss made her feel so . . . something.

_Hello, elephant. Please go away._

Both took a full step back. After a moment of hemming and hawing, Abbie spoke up. "You should probably find another ride home, right?" She cleared her throat again. "We'll just sleep off the weirdness and tomorrow it's all back to normal, yeah?"

"Agreed," replied Ichabod, hands once again clasped behind his back, posture rigid, eyes fixed on a point just above Abbie's head. He was sure the lustful urge would go away when the booze wore off, but he also knew he was doomed to spend the whole night dreaming of having her against the porch railing.

He got a ride home with Irving, who was tactful enough not to ask the obvious question.

The next morning he arrived at their 'office,' the archives room, to find Abbie combing through a stack of stupidly thick books.

"Hey," she greeted him with a small smile and wave.

He nodded politely, sat opposite her, and unfurled the scroll he'd spent the last three days trying to translate. "Any progress on your end?" He asked in regard to her search for information about the talisman they'd found the previous week.

"Not yet," she replied. "But I'll take this over translating the . . . whatever the hell dead language you got there, Crane. Good luck with that."

Ichabod chuckled. He tried to focus on his work, but casting glances at Abbie took up more and more of his time as the hours ticked by. It wasn't the kiss that had him so troubled, or the graphic and surprising dreams that followed. It was everything the kiss had forced him to confront about his past, his present, and most importantly, his marriage.

The Ichabod Crane of the past had wanted nothing more than to spend his life as Katrina's ardent lover, and steadfast husband. Before they were so joyfully reunited, he assumed there was no great difference between Ichabod of the past and Ichabod of the present. Indeed, aside from having to carry the burden of witness, he felt no change to his personality or temperament at all. He was the same man. The man who longed for Katrina.

True, Abbie had become his rock, foundation, and dearest friend in that first year, but she was no substitute for the woman he so vividly recalled as his soulmate. His one and only. Then, against all odds, God granted his fondest wish. After a hard-fought battle, there stood his beloved Katrina. Right there by his side.

_Everything is fixed, _he thought. At least in regard to the state of his soul, he felt all had been righted. He did not allow the euphoria to distract him from his ordained mission, of course. But he took it for granted that he and his wife would thrive, their marriage unaffected by anything they'd been through.

However, pure euphoria can only last so long. When it did fade away, a growing list of things he tried not to dwell on began to emerge. When they weren't focused on apocalypse, Katrina spoke ceaselessly of how taxing it was to be so out of place, out of time. How everything would be perfect if they could only go back 'home.' He knew he should feel the same. All their friends, their way of life, customs, etiquette. How could he not want to return? Why was he so willing to accept life in such an alien world?

He decided the best way to ease her lament was to teach her. Show her all the good things this era had to offer. Take-out, baseball, he'd even learned his way around Netflix. Films fascinated him. He would help his wife get the hang of it all, and she'd come to enjoy the modern world as he had, despite all its flaws. She had no patience for the cell phone, take out made her feel like a lazy wife, yelling at the umpire was too rude, and films held only her mild interest.

Loathe to censure or unfairly judge his wife, he tried to see things from her point of view-which was not an invalid one. Perhaps he'd acclimated with an unusual ease. Perhaps Katrina's was the more normal reaction. He had no point of comparison, so how would he know? He reminded himself of this every time he caught himself getting annoyed with her, or worse, snapping at her. His Katrina was intelligent, strong, and loyal. She possessed an endless list of qualities any sane husband would be grateful to have in a wife. Actually, if not for Katrina's cleverness he'd never have ended up here in the first place.

No automobiles.

No Thai food.

No Abbie.

No Abbie. The thought always made his insides go cold. Before the mistletoe incident, he chalked it up to their bond as witnesses and looked no deeper. Pushed it out of his mind in favor of demons and horsemen. He also told himself that their mutual response to the mistletoe incident was nothing more than a combination of human nature and alcohol.

Katrina had been waiting up for him when Irving dropped him off.

Wonderful Katrina. His beautiful, devoted wife. She smiled lovingly as warm, romantic candlelight flickered over her face. In that moment, the long-avoided elephant planted itself firmly in front of him and refused to be ignored. His last shred of denial fell away, and all that remained was a sad, simple fact. He would always, always love his dear Katrina, but he would never be _in love_ with her again. The Ichabod Crane who'd sworn his body and soul to her was dead. Buried over two hundred years ago, and risen a different man. Or perhaps he'd changed bit by bit. Either way, he went to bed certain that Mr. and Mrs. Crane no longer belonged together. He suspected she felt it as well, but he was in no condition for a serious conversation.

They climbed into bed. They slept.

Abbie on the porch did indeed consume his ceaseless dreams. But then the sun rose, and off he went to work. He was almost close enough to touch her. He kept trying to give a damn about the scroll, or being a witness, or the Apocalypse in general, but all he could think about was the previous night's dreams.

Abbie closed the book with an annoyed huff, and selected another one from the stack at random.

_Work dammit!_ Ichabod scolded himself.

The first dream had started innocently enough. Ichabod was fetching a blanket from the house to keep them warm.

"I thought you were gonna get our coats." said Abbie. She was sitting on the railing rubbing her hands together.

"The coat racks are a disaster, I didn't feel like digging though them. Besides-" he unfurled the giant blanket. "This looks much warmer, don't you think?"

"Certainly bigger," Abbie laughed. "I could swaddle my car in that thing."

They weren't under the mistletoe in this dream. They were on the upstairs balcony, tucked away in a small alcove around the side of the house. A little nook about the size of an elevator. They'd chosen this spot for its near-total darkness because that's when a starlit sky looks most impressive. When everything else is dark.

"Here," Ichabod said as he draped the blanket over his own shoulders. Abbie scooted forward on the railing as he crisscrossed each side of the blanket around her back. Abbie pulled the corners snug around her arms. Rankin did have several outdoor heaters running on the the up and downstairs porches but she was wearing a thin, knee length dress. More warmth was needed, and a giant blanket was perfect. It easily encircled them both, one end pooling around Abbie on the railing, the other falling just above Ichabod's calves. He had to move in close to her, but they weren't bound together. Both had room to move.

"Hey!" Abbie exclaimed, pointing at the sky to her right. "I think I know that constellation. Is it Orion?" Ichabod had to lean forward a bit to follow the line of where Abbie was pointing to. He rested his hand on the railing next to her, still under their generous nest of blanket.

He sighed. "I should know for sure, but alas, festive beverages have me just addled enough. I am . . . _fuzzy_."

Abbie smiled and gently tossed her head back to shake hair away from her face. Ichabod always appreciated the elegant line of her neck. A feature on full display in her choice of dress, as well as a necklace to further draw in one's attention.

_For a woman with such a no-nonsense attitude,_ thought Ichabod, _she's certainly knows how to flatter her figure._

Fuzzy.

It was then he realized that his thumb was touching Abbie's thigh, just below the slightly bunched up hem of her dress, where it was unconsciously tracing small lines. He could tell by Abbie's slight change in posture she'd realized it to. He meant to cease the movement and withdraw his hand, but in fact the exact opposite happened. His thumb snuck forward under the hem of her dress.

"It might be Orion," he continued, pointedly ignoring what he couldn't seem to stop. She likewise failed to push him away.

"I could look it up if I had my phone, but it's in my coat pocket," she said, her breath growing shallow as Ichabod's hand went on creeping forward, his thumb tracing longer and longer lines. "You should've gotten our coats."

"Quite the error." His voice was thin and shaky. "I apologize."

"S'okay," Abbie replied, her tone almost identical to Ichabod's as her legs began to scoot forward and draw up toward his waist. She placed her hands on the railing to keep from pitching over, and locked eyes with her partner for the first time since the strangeness began.

"I could go get them," he offered, his restraint quickly evaporating. When Abbie didn't reply, he gave up. Surrendered fully to the intoxicating thrall, and leaned forward, also clutching the railing for support. He pushed his hips forward, spreading her compliant thighs apart until he felt her dampening sex against his own growing hardness.

They could hear other party goers on the ground below them, and even around the corner in the well lit area of the balcony. Ichabod had never even considered doing such a thing as this. He looked over Abbie's shoulder and saw small group of people down in the yard, well within his view. They were having a grand ol' time._ 'Ive done dumber shit than you,' _was the general gist of their conversation.

"They seem to be enjoying themselves," he mused against Abbie's ear.

"Good for them," she whispered, spreading her legs wider.

Ichabod took the hint. He gripped the railing and began rocking his hips against her for more friction.

Abbie grabbed the front of his shirt and kept her eyes fixed on his chest while he made quick work of the drawstrings on his pants. He had himself freed in seconds, and Abbie reached down between them to run her hand over his length, other hand still fisted in his shirt. A low moan escaped him, masked by the crowd of loud revelers. She stroked him with expert precision while he dipped down to softly nuzzle and run his lips over her neck. Eventually her skilled hand became more of a frustration than a pleasure, so he hooked two fingers through the crotch of her panties and moved it out of the way (an easy task, as there was hardly any fabric there to begin with).

Abbie didn't need any prompting. She maneuvered herself into place, and Ichabod thrust forward with a bit more _purpose_ than he'd intended. She gasped and cried out before she could stop herself.

They instantly sat up straight, and tucked the blanket back around Abbie and over his shoulders to hide the evidence of their brazen indiscretion.

"Y'okay back there?" asked a random party goer, her head poking around the corner. She squinted into the darkness facing her. "Sounded like someone got hurt."

"No," Abbie answered, her voice shockingly steady. "I'm fine."

"Okay. Good." The stranger looked up at the sky. "Pretty night, isn't it?"

"Very," Ichabod replied, feeling oddly emboldened. He was sure the woman couldn't see more than the vague outline of their bodies, if that, so he leaned into Abbie just enough to rub the tip of his erection against her well-lubricated clit. She jerked with surprise. Ichabod knew she was inwardly cursing him, but he'd found himself ridiculously aroused by their situation, and he wanted to make sure Abbie's mind didn't clear enough to realize they should stop. He rubbed over her again, this time using a hand to guide himself along. Meanwhile, he went on speaking to the woman. "I thank you for your concern, kind lady, And I do hope you enjoy the night's festivities."

Ichabod _prayed_ the woman would realize she was being politely shooed away.

"Will do," she said with a grin before wandering off.

"How lovely," said Ichabod in a low, teasing voice as he pulled Abbie back into position. She seemed only a tad hesitant. Certainly not wary enough to give him pause. "One does," he thrust, eliciting from her a needy whimper. "Appreciate," (_thrust)_ "an outstanding," (_thrust),_ "occasion."He gripped her thighs and buried himself inside her with great enthusiasm.

Abbie sucked in a ragged gasp and began to roll her hips, barely able to restrain herself from crying out. "Outstanding," she panted. "Yeah."

Ichabod delighted in the look and sound of her so close to cumming. When the muscles inside her began to shudder, he curled one arm around her waist while the other slipped between her legs. He pressed thumb against her clit. The natural motion of her hips did the rest for him. He pressed his face in the crook of her neck as she clenched tight around him, doing his best to remain quiet.

_Inhuman_, he thought as he felt her relax against him.

He was trying to catch his breath and think of something to say when the dream ended.

The next dream was completely different. Things were already well underway from the moment it began. They slammed into the wall a few feet shy of the porch door, flushed and frantic. Nothing mattered but venting a year's worth of pent up lust.

Unlike his previous dream, Dreamscape Logic was in play here. No one was outside, nor did anyone come outside outside despite the obvious sounds of entirely unrestrained rutting right next to the damn door.

Abbie drug her nails down Ichabod's back just hard enough to hurt a little, and Ichabod responded by grinding against her, harshly attacking her mouth. They both wanted _victory_. Wanted to leave each other not only spent of all energy, but able to see and feel the evidence of their illicit encounter for days.

(It occurred to him upon waking that Real Abbie probably didn't think Ichabod capable of, much less interested in, that sort of thing. Too '18th century.' God, how he wished to prove her wrong, to show her how far he'd go to please his partner. The wish grew stronger when he woke, as his gut told him that each version of Dream Abbie he'd experienced was a different, genuine aspect of Real Abbie's sexual personality. A perk of the witness bond, perhaps?)

Dream Ichabod was determined to satisfy _and surpass_ Dream Abbie's clear expectations. He yanked her panties down to her knees and demanded she do the rest. She obeyed. He had a strong feeling her previous lovers tended to hold back when it came to this sort of thing. Treated her as though she might be too fragile to handle it, being such a petite woman and all. A delicate thing. He knew better. If his Abbie leveled a challenge of any sort, she damn well wanted it met. And meet it he would. In spades.

The second her panties were tossed away, he wedged a leg between her thighs and thrust against her as he went to work undoing his pants. "Just so you know," he purred, glancing down at the thoroughly wet, discarded scrap of fabric, "I'll be taking those with me when I leave." He could tell she was intentionally holding back every sound her body wanted to release. Too stubborn.

_I will hear you, Abbie,_ he promised himself. _You will cry out for me before this ends._

A new tactic suddenly occurred to him. He pulled the second to last drawstring on his pants as slowly as possible while placing his other hand flat against her chest. He pushed without warning, pinning her forcefully against the wall. "Do not move," he instructed while loosening the knot of his final drawstring. "Remain as still as you can, Abbie, or I will walk away and leave you here unfinished." He bit at her earlobe and added, "I won't even take the panties. Even your imagination shall be left in wanting." The threat won him an excited whimper. He rewarded them both with a generous thrust of his leg.

She didn't move, but her eyes darkened with arousal. "Watch me," he breathed as he withdrew and stroked himself with no hint of modesty. He let her watch for a long time before he pried her legs apart with his own and growled into her ear, "You may move!"

Abbie immediately grabbed his waist and hitched herself up the wall, legs splayed out at his sides. The second they were properly aligned he surged into her, burying every inch of himself in her inviting warmth, and went on thrusting with aggressive vigor. He wanted to leave Abbie feeling thoroughly spent for a damn long time, and trusted she would speak up if things got too rough. The thought of her daintily unwrapping Christmas presents while still feeling the aftermath of what they'd done drove him wild.

He pulled at the spaghetti straps of her dress. They broke easily. A bit of fabric tore as well.

"I have to walk back through the house to get to the car, you know."

He abandoned the task of pushing her strapless bra out of the way in favor of pressing a hand to her throat with just enough grip to convey authority. He tilted her head up and brought his face in close to hers. "Not my problem," he informed her quietly. She drew in a ragged breath. "You shall receive no quarter from me in regards to your modesty, Abbie." He ground himself against her to underline the point. She answered the move with an impossibly loud cry of approval.

_Well done, Ichabod._

"Is that clear?"

"No quarter," she whispered with a compliant nod. The look on her face was nothing short of obscene.

He returned to what he'd been doing, and as soon as her breast was fully free he placed a series of kisses everywhere he could. Sometimes he bit down a little. Not hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to deliver a slight sting. It was his first real gamble. When Abbie responded by throwing her head back and sucking in a long, unsteady gasp, he figured it was safe to keep going. He pushed the bra and dress down so he could kiss, suck, bite, and scrape his teeth along as much of her body as possible without pulling out of her. A few bites did leave an impression, and were her skin not already gorgeously dark, those marks would've been accompanied by evidence of where he'd sucked at her flesh. Nothing seemed too much for her. In fact, not only was nothing too much-it wasn't enough. The rougher he got, the more she moaned, keened, and bucked forward shamelessly.

_God, how those other lovers must have neglected this aspect of her appetite. _

Ichabod felt it safe to take things up a notch. What lay ahead was new territory for him, but Abbie's satisfaction was more than worth the venture as far as he was concerned.

He flung open her legs, withdrew himself fully, and took a step back, much to her obvious displeasure. She opened her mouth ready to say something, but he cut her off. "Put your hands over your head and cross your wrists," he ordered. "Now."

Her eyes darkened even more as she followed the command.

Ichabod let his gaze wander over her.

"Well?" She asked, shivering.

"Quiet," he replied before crouching down to retrieve her panties. He used the scant garment to tie her wrists together, then pressed her hands firmly against the wall. "Do not. Lower. Your arms."

"Promise."

He gripped her thighs and hoisted her up again. She took the hint and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Too tight?" He asked of her bindings.

She angled her mouth just beyond touching distance, and flicked her tongue over his lips. "You tell me. _Sir_."

He grabbed a generous fistful of her hair and forced her mouth against his-an attack she accepted with a deep sigh. He rocked forward and slowly slid his erection along the length of her center. "Say please," he ordered, his unblinking eyes boring into her. She met his stare, and grit her teeth.

_A battle, interesting._

He pressed against her harder. "It would be a mistake to think I'm too far gone to abandon you," he warned, his voice low and serious. Ichabod doubted it was true, but he needed Abbie to believe he was complete control of her pleasure.

"Please," she panted. "Please, please! Evil sonofabitch!"

_Always the mouthy one. God, I love you. _

He pulled her hips forward and drove into her, then held absolutely still. A false start. "Please what?"

Abbie ground her teeth even harder, trapped somewhere between frustration and lust. "Please," she drew in a deep breath, and exhaled, "screw me. I mentioned evil, right?" She cocked her head to the side, a bit of everyday, snarky Abbie shining through.

Just for that, he decided to push her further. "'_Screw_' you how?"

Abbie writhed against him, glaring, desperate for friction. "As hard. As you fucking. Can."

He obliged with enthusiasm. As per his command, her arms stayed firmly above her head with every thrust. Ichabod was impressed. A lesser woman would have let them fall a bit by now. It seemed to go on for ages. Several times he pulled her down to plunge his tongue into her mouth, allowing her just enough leeway to do the same. She tasted like stubbornness and fire.

Finally, all control lost, he ripped her hands free of their binding. She responded by tearing his (apparently flimsy) shirt down and biting all along his shoulders and throat without restraint. She teased at his jaw for a moment before fisting both hands in his long, soft hair, and pulling his eager mouth against hers with a lack of restraint to rival his own.

He snaked a hand between their bodies, and slid down toward the engorged head of her clit. He had to to lean back for the right angle to service her properly, so brutal kisses instead became a search for what fleeting mouth against mouth contact they could get as he circled and stroked.

Her every moan and gasp shook with frantic need.

_Days_, he reminded himself. _She needs to feel it for days._

"I'm close," Abbie rasped as Ichabod's searching mouth came within reach, sighing as he ran his tongue over hers. "So Damn close."

The words were barely out of her mouth when he felt her walls quiver around him. He rubbed his fingers over her clit again and again while she clawed at his hips in an effort to pull him deeper as she rode out every gasping, growling burst of pure electric orgasm. It coursed through her, each wave fading only to be chased by another. And another. And another.

When it was over, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Even in her afterglow, Ichabod could see how eager she was to feel him swell inside her and tumble to his finish.

He awoke from the dream as he came, quieting himself just in time to keep from waking Katrina.

More dreams followed the first two.

Given the situation, trying to get work done while in such close proximity to Real Abbie was a monumental challenge. At first. Then it became blistering hell.

_No_, he decided finally. _I am putting an end to this absurd farce._ He dropped the scroll and stood up, bracing himself for the impending conversation.

"Done already?" Abbie asked, impressed.

"Not nearly." He strode around to her side of the desk. "Abbie, I cannot abide ignoring what happened between-"

"Ichabod," she said as she rose to her feet, "it's gonna make things weird if-"

"Things are already '_weird_,'" he cut her off. "I have tried several times since the 'incident' to spend at least full minute, a mere sixty seconds, thinking of anything but you. All to no avail whatsoever."

"Ichabod!" She shouted as if scolding a child. "You don't break up a marriage over one mildly inappropriate mistletoe kiss!"

"Katrina and I were broken already. Deep down we've both known it for a while, I think. All that's left to do is face facts and formally release one another. Add to that . . ." he paused, uncertain whether or not to go on. _You've taken things this far_, he thought, _and it's Abbie. You tell her everything. _He cleared his throat and continued. "Add to that, I don't know what you dreamt of last night, but-"

She averted her gaze, suddenly finding the floor to her left incredibly interesting.

The reaction bolstered his courage. His voice dropped a full octave, and he stepped closer. "-but my dreams were vivid," he paused, "and detailed," stepped even closer, and dropped another octave, "and highly enjoyable."

He could see her beginning to unravel.

"Abbie," he whispered, cradling her face in his hands, loving the feel of her chest rising and falling against his own. He turned her face gently toward him, tilting her head up so she had to look him in the eye. "Last night was merely the final straw. And I could not be more glad it happened."

She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her eyes from welling up. _The world could literally end if we ruin our friendship, _she reminded herself. _It's an awful lot to risk for a standing Saturday night dinner date._

Ichabod brushed his nose alongside hers, his mouth hovering less than an inch away. "If Katrina and I agreed to dissolve what little is left of our marriage," they sighed in unison as his body arched into hers of its own free will, "would you still insist we settle for dreams?"

Abbie stared at him silently for a long time. He knew her well enough to read her expression. Conflicted. Their bond. Their mission. What might happen? It was all right there on her face, and in her beautiful eyes. Finally, a tiny smile defeated those concerns.

Ichabod smiled back. "No more dreams?"

"No more dreams."

He brushed his lips as close to hers as he dared without risk of once again breaking his still-standing vows to Katrina. Though he was glad of what had happened between he and Abbie it was a literal, physical violation of his promise, and he was determined not to insult his wife any further. He was certain she felt the same as he did with regard to their marriage, but they both owed each other, and God, a final declaration of its ending. As well as a plea for his benevolent forgiveness.

He pressed a delicate kiss to Abbie's cheek. "Then I swear to you," one more feather-light kiss, "the next time you see me I shall be a free man."

She folded her hands over his as her smile grew wider. "Good to know," she gave his hands a squeeze. "I'll see you then."

_Such a sensible woman_.

Ichabod nodded and left the room without another word, or backward glance. He was resolute in his purpose. Public transportation got him within a few miles of his home, and he walked the rest of the way. All the while praying he was correct in his assessment of Katrina's feelings.

Back at the archives room Abbie struggled through a few more books before she gave up and went home. Thank God for Angry Birds and a thousand other pointless games, or she'd have gone crazy waiting to be tired enough for sleep.

She was enjoying the sight of Ichabod beneath her, his glazed eyes taking in every detail of her body, when a thundering knock at the door jarred her awake. "Whoever the hell that is, I will rip them a new one," she mumbled, seething frustration as she shimmied into a pair of pj pants. "Three new ones! And shove a grenade up all of 'em!" She stomped to the door and threw it open ready to bust out some serious wrath.

There stood Ichabod, leaning against the doorframe and panting heavily. "I realize this is horribly indelicate-no, crude," his breathing began to slow a bit, "blatantly crude of me. I intended to take at least one night, truly, if only for propriety's sake. I thought I could bear it, but-" he stepped over the threshold, and pulled Abbie into exactly the same embrace they'd shared when he left her in Purgatory. "I am free." he said softly.

Abbie was instantly dizzy with joy, but she couldn't resist the chance to tease him. She pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "2:15, Ichabod? Really?"

He shrugged, a delirious grin spreading over his face. "I said it was crude. To be honest, Katrina more or less ordered me here. Or at least out of the house. Apparently her powers extend to sensing the heightened emotions of anyone nearby."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Abbie deadpanned.

Ichabod chuckled. _A lifetime of this woman's wit. I can't wait. _"I was quite proud of her when she ejected me, actually. She said my emotions were, quote: 'driving her nuts.' Modern slang. I've never heard her use it before."

Abbie wracked her brain and came up empty. "Hey, why are you so outta breath?"

"Ah," he ran his hands down her arms and threaded his fingers through hers. "Well, the busses don't run at this hour, so . . . "

Abbie's jaw dropped. "You walked?! It's eight miles!"

He nodded. "I ran the last three."

She was so amazed she had to grip his shirt to keep her balance. _Is this a swoon? Am I seriously fucking swooning?_

"Don't feel too flattered, Miss Mills. We used to walk fifteen, even twenty miles a day during the war."

She let go of his shirt and launched a playful punch at his left arm.

"Really, I've walked further to drop off letters."

"I will send you back to the cabin!" She threatened.

The playful spark in his eyes vanished, replaced by something almost dangerous. "No you won't."

Abbie's stomach did cartwheels.

He slid one hand down the length of her spine as the other held her in place, and met her in a kiss not soft enough to be gentle, nor rough enough to be hard. Depth, however? This kiss did not want for depth. Ichabod was half convinced Abbie meant to devour him. He matched her enthusiasm, lifted her off the ground in one effortless swoop, and kicked the door closed behind him. She wrapped her legs around him and went on stroking his tongue with her own as he walked toward the hallway with a determined stride. He was fairly sure he knew where Abbie's bedroom was, and figured she would let him know if he had it wrong. Second door on the right. Correct guess.

He set her down on the bed and crawled up the length of her, settling in as her knees rose up on either side of him. She arched into the satisfying hardness pressed against her with a long sigh, and he responded by kissing and nibbling his way down her neck. When he reached her collarbone, he slid a hand beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, and slowly hitched it upward as he went on ghosting kisses over her body. Every time he returned to her mouth she reveled in the taste and feel of him. He teased at her breasts as he kissed, long fingers caressing gently. Occasionally he'd run his long, intuitive tongue over a nipple.

Abbie pulled the shirt off while he worked, and writhed as he traveled south to her belly. "Ichabod," she whined, trying to coax him back upward.

"My apologies, Miss Mills," he said with a wicked grin, "but with your permission. . . " he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her pj pants and sat back on his knees.

Her eyelids fluttered.

He shimmied the pants off with her complete cooperation. The pants discarded, he moved to the line just above her panties, licking, nibbling, and nuzzling with reverent affection. She gasped and sighed beneath his attentions. He loved the honor of pleasing her this way, and promised himself he would give her as much as humanly possible. Whatever it took to ensure his Abbie's absolute satisfaction.

He pulled off the panties as if they were toxic, and flung them aside. His mind flashed back to the previous night's dream, and a delightful new thought came to life. He pushed her legs apart and spent a few minutes running his tongue over every drenched inch between them while Abbie threaded her fingers through his hair, moaning her approval. When he reared up and lifted himself off the bed, she moved to follow him.

"No," he said in a gentle yet commanding tone. "Just point me to where you keep your underthings." He glanced around the room. "Which drawer?"

Abbie frowned, confused.

He bent down and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Trust me, dearest," he whispered.

She pointed to a dresser against the wall behind him. "Top drawer on the right."

He kissed her with all the feeling he had. Tried to pour all of his devotion, his sincerity, his soul, into the kiss. But when he stood again, it was time to play. He walked to the drawer she had indicated, and rifled through it until he found a pair of panties similar to the ones he'd bound her hands with in his dream.

"Here," he flung them to her as he walked back to the bedside. "Put them on."

"You want me to put clothes _on_? Do you get how this-"

"Do it!" he ordered, determined to eradicate every last one of her assumptions regarding his sexual sensibilities. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and trailed his hand up the inside of her thigh, then he slowly ran his fingers along the length of her core before pushing his index finger into her, gently massaging as he went. "I assure you I know what I'm doing." His voice dripped pure sex.

She leaned back with a sigh and nodded.

"Then put them on." He withdrew his hand and stood up again. She did as he asked, and watched with great interest as he undressed himself. They broke eye contact as little as possible.

He did love the thought of _her_ removing his clothes, but he figured she'd need some training to handle all the knots, especially in the dark. And he would crawl through hell before he let anything spoil the mood of their first time together. No. 'How To Undress An 18th Century Gentleman' could wait.

He moved to the middle of the bed and sat crossed legged. "Come here." He held out a hand, helped her up, and guided her to straddle him. He could see she was still confused about the underwear thing. "They'll be removed shortly," he promised as he rubbed her through the fabric. She rocked into his hand. "I want them drowning in you first." She rose higher and lower as she rode him, picking up speed, panties wetter by the second.

Their mouths couldn't get enough of each other, either. So much new territory to explore. A whole world discovered. Though her every lustful sound tempted him to scrap the plan, tear away the panties, and plunge into her, he held strong. Reminded himself how delicious it would be to see her frenzied and desperate. Completely worth the wait.

He kept himself sane by mentally blocking out the feel of his damp fingers rubbing against her heated sex, and focused instead on how wonderfully she kissed. The way she nipped at his lips, and danced in his mouth. The way her tongue pushed against his as if wrestling for a prize. Confident and powerful. The physical equivalent of her whole personality. Of everything he'd fallen so in love with.

"I don't know what you have planned, Crane," she said breathlessly, "but please tell me the damn panties are wet enough!"

He brought his hand to his mouth, and licked the tip of his middle finger. It was slick with arousal, as were his index and ring fingers. He grinned lasciviously. "This will do." He felt a shiver go through her. "Take them off, and come back to me."

"One thing first," she whispered in reply as she brought his hand to her mouth, running her tongue along the length of his fingers, and gently sucking the tip of each one.

Again Ichabod almost lost control. _Dream Abbie did not show me this_, he thought. A pleasured sigh roll out of him as her tongue caressed each digit. "Many thanks," he whispered.

She leaned forward and hovered over his lips. "I keep a clean house."

"Yet such a dirty woman. Quite the contradiction."

She released his hand, slid off his lap with a deep sigh, then leaned back and pulled off the panties. "What now?" She asked, the garment dangling from her fingers.

"Hand them to me."

She obliged.

"Come back."

"Just a second," she said. She reared up on her knees, pressed her own hands between her legs, and rolled her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Ichabod's eyes went wide. _Dream Abbie could learn a thing or two . . ._

She half-smiled mischievously, clearly enjoying his reaction as she went on pleasuring herself.

"God, you're stunning," Ichabod warbled, amazed he was still able to speak. He took several deep breaths in an effort to collect his senses. What he had planned next would require him to take command. "Abbie," he said firmly, motioning her forward. "You're needed. Do cooperate, or stern measures will be taken."

It was Abbie's turn to look surprised. Ichabod motioned again. She crawled to his lap and straddled him, curious and eager.

"Hands behind your back," he ordered.

"You're a damn surprising man, Crane," she said while doing as instructed.

"You're a damn surprising woman," he replied as he tied her off. He lifted her at the waist and angled her back, kissing all along her body-always ignoring her attempts to pull him to her mouth.

"Mean," she muttered.

Ichabod chuckled. "Oh no," he shook his head, "this . . . " he trailed his fingers down her body . . . " this is mean." He easily slid two fingers inside her, and let them wander forward in no real hurry. She bucked against them with a needy whine.

Ichabod briefly allowed her within kissing distance, enjoying the taste of her for a moment before pulling away again. "You're so warm," he told her the lowest octave he could manage, his skilled fingers stroking her walls, "and wet." He pushed in a third finger, and ran his thumb over her clit in slow circles. "So incredibly wet, Abbie. I imagine you could cum right now if I let you." He allowed her to dive forward and kiss him again-this time a ferocious attack, as if she wanted to punish him for all the torture. "But I'm saving that for later," his voice rumbled as he pulled his fingers out of her and wrapped them around his shaft.

"Mmm," Abbie moaned as she watched him stroke himself. "I'd like to help with that."

"Maybe next time," he replied as he adjusted their bodies.

Abbie needed no prompting. She spread her legs wider, and shifted around until she felt him flush against her entrance. He gripped her waist, and brought her down on him slowly. They both gasped as he sunk into her soft depths, and he cried out again and again when she began to rock her hips. Her strong thighs set an ambitious pace. She kissed and sucked along his neck, savoring the sound of every lust-drunk noise he made. She kept at it for what felt like forever. When she couldn't take it another second, she licked at his earlobe and asked, "can I touch you now?"

He reached behind her to rip away the binding as fast as he could, hands shaking, and practically threw her down on the bed as her newly freed hands swept over his body. He plunged himself back into her incredible heat without pause, and took a moment to relish the feel of her wandering touch before he resumed thrusting.

He filled her perfectly, moving precisely against the spot that made her thrash and mewl like a wild animal. He dedicated every ounce of willpower to holding back his own release. She wasn't screaming his name yet, which meant it wasn't time. Abbie deserved nothing less than the full extent of his abilities-and he'd be damned if he failed to deliver. She made a mournful sound when he withdrew and sat back, admiring the result of his handiwork.

"Nonono," she rasped as she gulped down air-which only became a priority when he wasn't inside her.

He pushed her thighs apart, opening her wide, and lowered his head between her legs. He brushed his tongue over her glistening clit, and ended each brush with a firm flick. Her breath hitched each time, and he grinned with pride when he felt her leg muscles begin to shake. He increased pressure on her clit, running his tongue in small circles as his index and middle fingers slid inside her and began to curl forward in time to the barely-controlled roll of her hips. She was already writhing when they found their destination, the perfect spot. With that he sent her barreling into oblivion, screaming his name as she went.

He used his other hand to get himself off, never losing focus on the primary mission. Keep Abbie cumming, his name on her lips, for as long as possible. He more than met his goal. Kept her cresting and falling for several minutes before she began to calm down. It was only when he knew she was in her final throes that he abandoned her clit. He kissed his way up her body, stopping at the curve of her shoulder to wipe his face on a bunched-up blanket and rose to her mouth.

"Was that to your liking, Miss Mills?" he inquired softly, tongue darting between her parted lips. "If not, I am happy to try again. All I need is a moment to gather myself, and perhaps a glass of water."

Abbie's head lolled around on the pillow. "Liking. To. Yes," she paused to track down more words. "We're good."

Ichabod stretched out on his side next to her. He pushed a mat of sweat-soaked hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I shall have to have you in the archives room at some point."

Abbie replied with an exhausted giggle. She curled up against Ichabod and drifted off to sleep. Her dreams featured the archives room.


	2. A Day in the Archives Room

*****It's the next day. Back to work.*** (and thanks for the great reviews on chapter one, guys. I wasn't even going to continue the story, but it seemed to be A popular idea, so . . .)**

They meandered down the street on their way to work, discussing how to deal with their relationship going forward insofar as it related to their Witness-hood, and the group dynamic.

"Personally," said Ichabod while licking is thumb clean of donut hole glaze. "I haven't a burning urge to hurl myself under a microscope. What are your feelings?"

"Same." Abbie replied breezily. "Let's just keep this thing to ourselves until it's . . . I dunno, less new? Til we know what the hell we're doing?" She shoved the last of her Danish into her face with determination, then wondered how she planned to go about _chewing it._

Ichabod nodded and peered into his bag of donut holes. "Two left. Would you care for one?"

Abbie shook her head and pointed to the her mouth, puffed large with Danish. "Th's's plnty frrme."

For the thousandth time since Officer Rankin's Christmas party, Ichabod smiled in admiration of one of Abbie's qualities. In this case, her casual lack of pretension. As he finished the last of his own nutritionally appalling breakfast, Abbie veered toward a garbage can and threw away the bag, along with her own small pastry bag and napkin.

"Thank you Miss Mills," he said, full of formal decorum. He continued forward, and got a few steps ahead of Abbie when suddenly a loose handful of snow struck him in the back of the head. He spun around to see Abbie standing there, the telltale remnants of snow clinging to her woolen mitten.

She shrugged. "Couldn't resist."

"Hmmmm," he mused thoughtfully before resuming the walk forward.

Abbie drew up alongside him and launched an elbow at his ribs. "You're not gonna return fire?"

Ichabod looked down at her with a cheeky smirk. "I much prefer a surprise attack."

Irving and Jenny were already in the archives room when they arrived.

Jenny was perched on a ladder against the bookshelf, her arm looped through the frame as she scribbled in a small notebook. "Checking your library," she said without looking up. Jenny wasn't one to divide her attention. "Wanna see if there's anything in my stuff that you don't already have. It'll be easier if we have everything here." She flipped the booklet closed and dismounted to slide the ladder further down. "I assume you've already picked through Corbin's things?"

"Of course," Abbie replied as she undid her scarf and struggled to tug the mittens off her fingers.

Ichabod resisted the urge to reach over and help her, busying himself instead with his own Winter accessories. He knew such a gesture would not be seen as overtly romantic, a mere friendly kindness, but what if he unconsciously moved too close to her? A lingering touch. A gaze held a moment too long. Just little details, yes, but Miss Jenny and Captain Irving both had keen eyes for detail. No. If he and Abbie meant to test the waters in secret, strict discretion was the safest way forward.

Abbie went to her desk and picked up her stupidass talisman. She hated the damn thing more every day. She was starting to believe that had no use or meaning at all, and the forces of hell had blinked it into existence just to fuck with them.

"And what is our newly exonerated Captain working on?" asked Ichabod as he put maximum physical distance between himself and his greatest weakness.

Irving looked up from the mess of maps he was hunched over with a half smile. "Only Exonerated. Not a Captain," he clarified. "Not even a cop."

"Sir, you have done your utmost in the service of right, justice, and public safety. Police Officer you may not be, but I shall call you Captain until you prove unworthy of the title."

Irving snorted. "Half the shit outta your mouth oughta be carved on plaque, Crane." Rather than linger on the sentiment, he pointed to his work. "This map marks everywhere we know any of the horsemen have shown up. This one is addresses and movements of all our known and suspected hessians. And I'm putting pins on the blank one in all the spots where they intersect to see of any kind of pattern shows up."

"Interesting," muttered Ichabod as he leaned in for a closer look.

"It's thin, I know, but," Irving shrugged and hunched over the maps again, glancing back and forth between them, squinting. "Remind me to pick up transparency sheets next time I go out," he mumbled. Ichabod remained firmly helicoptered at his side, and didn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere. "Um. Crane? Shouldn't you be . . . " he nodded his head toward Ichabod's desk (otherwise known as the desk directly opposite and pushed against Abbie's). "I can handle the maps on my own."

Ichabod struggled to keep his body from betraying hints of anxiety, and he could feel Abbie trying to do the same. "Ahem. Indeed, yes. Of course. Translations of . . .the . . . I'll . . ." the sentence trailed off as he slunk to his seat. Part of him couldn't help but be glad for closer proximity to her, but then there came the burden of having to conceal the feeling. Affect a casual nonchalance so it wouldn't be so blatantly apparent the way her presence warmed him. Held him. Made him gaze at the ancient scroll on his desk as if it were a precious thing instead a baleful pile of unknown words. Then on top of all those sweet, romantic sentiments was the painfully recent memory of her legs around him, the taste of her, the look on her face as he moved inside her.

'_I keep a clean house.'_ The sound of her lust-heavy voice played in his ears, clear as birdsong._ 'Please tell me the damn panties are wet enough.'_

Meanwhile, Abbie turned the talisman over and over in her hands, running her fingers over it as though she could convince the thing to speak up and tell her it's secrets by finding the right way to touch it.

_Touch._

Abbie grumbled and clenched her fist. _Are you kidding me, Mills?_ _A random thought's gonna get you going? _She would have audibly growled if not for present company within earshot.

She recalled Ichabod's unwavering confidence. _'I assure you I know what I'm doing,' . . . 'Do cooperate, or stern measures will be taken.'_

Despite her best effort, her breathing did shallow a bit. She could could tell the change was not lost on Ichabod. Though amazingly, she saw that he had made a few pencil notations in the margins of his scroll. Evidence of work done. _I hate you._ She set down the talisman and stalked over to the far bookshelf at her left, her back to everyone else in the room.

Ichabod inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. A relief Abbie squelched seconds later.

"Hey Crane, check this out."

Jenny and Irving both went on diligently observing their respective tasks as Ichabod crossed the room to stand at Abbie's side.

"May I assume you wish me to suffer?" He whispered without looking at her, his full attention instead focused on the open book cradled in her arms.

Abbie likewise did not raise her stare from the book when she spoke, her tone as hushed as a spy surrounded by enemies. "I'm wet as hell, and we need to get these people out of here."

Ichabod braced himself against the shelf to keep from doubling over. "That was simply mean!"

"Medical emergency, Crane."

"_Incredibly_ mean." he cleared his throat and raised his voice to normal pitch. "Yes, yes, how interesting, that may indeed be relevant."

Abbie tensed, her eyes boring into the pages of the book. "I seem to remember someone wanting to, quote, 'have me in the archives room at some point,' and I swear, Ichabod, if I'm not getting fucked on or against something in this room in the next ten minutes-"

"Jenny!" Ichabod practically shouted, making a beeline for the other Mills woman. "It occurs to me suddenly that there is an easier way to go about ascertaining which books of yours are needed here," he didn't pause for her response before barreling forward. The urge to feel Abbie against him at the soonest possible moment had obliterated all other thoughts. "As you know, I have an eidetic memory, and I took a . . . I suppose you'd call it 'mental inventory,' of this library some time ago. Hand me the list of your books and I'll tell you those we have need of."

Jenny hopped off the ladder. "Works for me." She handed over her notepad.

Determined not to shirk his sacred duty _entirely_, he did give the (fifteen page) list as much of his attention as he could muster. Luckily, his aforementioned perfect memory made the job simple. " . . . this one," he marked off a title, "this one . . . this one . . . we have this one but it's in terrible condition, as is this one," and so on until the task was complete.

Jenny looked over the list. "Damn. This is at least three boxes worth, maybe more. I've got 'em in a storage unit a few towns over."

"Then why not have the Captain assist you?"

Irving's head snapped up from his work as though he'd just remembered there were other people on the room. "Captain does what?"

Ichabod squared his shoulders and turned to face Irving. "Miss Jenny has a great deal of cargo to fetch, Abbie and I are entrenched in tasks of immediate importance, and as your mapping endeavor, while certainly of no small merit, is of a more general nature, I move that the two of you take what I assume will be the better part of the day to go through Miss Jenny's storage unit and retrieve what is needed."

Irving and Jenny looked at one anther with a mutual shrug.

"Makes sense to me," said Irving. He and Jenny headed for the coatrack, and said their goodbyes to Ichabod and Abbie on their way out the door. They walked through the tunnels in silence for several minutes before Irving spoke up. "How long do you figure before they're naked?"

Jenny shuddered. "Irving, one of them is my sister. I'm choosing not to think about it," she paused to avoid a rat. "But isn't it a little insulting that they think we're both idiots?"

Irving steered her around a pile of stone debris, in the process knocking them into another. "Sorry about that. No, I'm not insulted. Their lives are gonna suck more and more for the next seven years, maybe longer. I say let 'em have all the fun they can, and 'secret sex' is damn fun."

"Yeah?" Jenny raised a dubious eyebrow.

Irving nodded. "Far as I'm concerned, if they start dry humping right in front of me? Pfft! Ain't even happening. Seriously, I'll ignore it all until I see flat out x-rated shit."

Back in the archives room, the frustrated duo had decided to wait a few minutes before attacking one another to make sure the other Irving and Jenny were well out of earshot. To that end, they were standing several arms' lengths apart.

"By the way," Ichabod grinned as they waited. "Let the record show that _you_ caved in first."

She gave him snarky look.

"I held fast." He smiled. "Resolute. Firm."

"Mmhm." Abbie mused as she stepped slowly toward him, figuring the few minutes are up. "And I'm sure you'd have stayed strong all day." She got close enough to run her hands down his chest. One came to rest at his waist, the other kept going. "Stayed nice and _firm_," she breathed against his lips.

His mewled softly as he felt himself grow and strain against her pressing hand. "Well. I suppose I walked right into that, didn't I?"

Abbie went to work on the drawstrings of his pants without reply.

He watched her work. "Well done."

"They're knots, Crane. Not padlocks."

"Padlocked pants," he mused, his breath hitching. "Quite the mental image."

Abbie finished the last string and began stroking him. She nuzzled her face into his chest, placing warm little kisses on the fabric of his shirt. "How do you like this image?" she asked, her voice crackling with indecency as she sank slowly to her knees.

Ichabod's pupils blew wide.

The rest of the world turned to cardboard.

He could feel her tantalizing breath on him as she moved closer. She ran her tongue up his whole length before taking him in her mouth. It was amazing how much of him she took. He could feel himself at the back of her throat. He fisted a hand in her hair, but applied no pressure. She was _spectacular_ left to her own devices. Sometimes her hand returned to stroking his shaft as her soft lips and tongue wandered the inside of his thighs, the line of his hips, the flesh below his navel. Even the concept of coherent thought grew dim as she worked, drawing from him a series of low moans, high pitched gasps, and every noise in-between.

It took all his discipline to pull her away. He cradled her face in his hands and ran a thumb over her shining lips. "What a fine portrait this would make."

Two rows of perfect white teeth shone up at him. "Maybe we'll have to try that sometime." She nipped playfully at the pad of his thumb. "Three cheers for digital cameras."

_Do not buckle!_ he ordered his knees. _And God bless the photograph!_ Another reason to favor the modern world.

Abbie angled her head to take him in again, but he stopped her. "Skilled as you are in that department, I believe someone made mention of an urge to be _fucked_?" (Ichabod's time exploring Netflix had done much to acclimate him to coarse language.)

She she closed her eyes and made a sound that threatened to melt his spine as he marveled that something so horrific, so bloody as the end of days deserved thanks for bringing him to the body and soul of Abbie Mills. He swore he'd never let go of her. Not even if it could stop the Apocalypse cold in its tracks. A moral failing, certainly, but true. His attachment to her had grown deeper than all other considerations. Its roots, he felt, must run the whole length of his body, webbing amid the veins that sustained his life.

He traced his fingers down her neck, stopping to feel her quickened pulse. "Undo your pants," he whispered. She obliged. "Pleasure yourself." He drew the back of his hand along her jawline in a gentle caress as he watched her. How her eyelids fluttered. The roll of her shoulders as she worked herself with less and less restraint. "Take off your shirt and continue." Again, wordless compliance. She removed her bra too, and helped him out of his pants as he took care of his shirt.

He stepped back for a better view.

"Care to join me?" asked Abbie, her eyes riveted on his body.

Ichabod knew what she meant. He curled his fingers around the base of his length, and set a steady rhythm in time to the rocking of her shoulders.

A smile played at Abbie's parted lips, "That's good look on you."

"Then perhaps," Ichabod struggled to keep his voice steady, "we should _exchange_ photographs?"

She moaned and began to buck against her hands.

_Time for a change of scenery, _he decided. "Are you wet enough to take me, Abbie?"

"Uh-huh," she said, gasping as she spoke, her words hurried. "That table. The tall narrow one. Fuck me right there." She brought her arms around his shoulders when he reached down for her, and within seconds she was perched on the edge of the table, pants and panties discarded. Her legs were spread wide, her dripping sex pressed flush against Ichabod's pulsing hardness.

He had one arm around her, hand resting where her lower back met the curve of her ass, while other hand kneaded up and down the muscle of her thigh. He sighed against her mouth, kissing her relentlessly as he slid into her intoxicating heat.

Abbie gasped and whined, clawing at his shoulders. "Come on," she warbled, "come on, please!"

"Mmmmm." Ichabod swept his tongue along her lips, and she met him with vigor. They pushed back and forth between his mouth and hers as if vying for territory. "And how does the Lady prefer to be fucked today?"

Abbie softly nibbled his lower lip. "_Aggressively_, if you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all, Miss," he replied with a small grin as he gripped her thighs. He kissed slowly from her collarbone up the line of her throat, stopping to lavish special attention at the spot just below her earlobe. "I am _entirely_ at your command."

Her breath hitched.

He tilted her back so her body was at an angle with the tabletop, supported her with one arm, and used the other to prop himself up. He looked her directly in the eye as she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. He placed one small, almost innocent kiss to her mouth before he thrust forward, challenging himself to reach the full depth of her.

She clutched at his shoulders and arms as he went on. He filled her perfectly, lit up her whole body with greedy longing as he played every bit the aggressive lover she'd requested. It was a quick ride to the top. She started to cum the second his fingers touched her clit.

He felt it starting to happen, and adapted instantly. He rubbed his middle finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves with more purpose, and took care to hit those places inside her that made her cry out and writhe frantically, thoughtlessly riding every moment. He thrust and pushed against her pulsing walls with vigor, reveling in the varied reactions it won from her, stopping only when she shuddered to the end.

He withdrew himself, still hard, and prompted her to lay down fully on the table.

She did as he requested without saying a word (words were still on their way back to town), and watched him gently kiss his way down the length of her chest, her belly, and over the swell of her hips. He hovered there for just a moment before moving lower to busy himself between her legs. She sighed, content as he lapped, stroked, and nuzzled her with care.

He knew she was returned to the world, settled back into herself, when he felt her hands sweep through his hair and her feet nudge at his sides.

He rose, propped her leg up, and rested his head on her knee for a moment.

"Thoughts?" she asked.

"Not a one," he replied with a shrug. He pulled over one of the chairs they'd shoved out of the way, and sat down. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she'd prefer he take care of himself when she practically leapt into his lap, quickly arranging herself in a straddle. "Oh!" he exclaimed.

Abbie chuckled, and reared up. She grabbed his face and kissed him with ferocious appetite. "This is what my second wind looks like," she said before resuming the attack. His hands went seeking out every inch of flesh they could reach while he eagerly accepted the kiss. Let it own him. Consume him. He didn't even notice she was positioning them both to take him again until it happened. In a blink. He broke the kiss with a shocked gasp.

Her eyes stayed locked on his as she began to ride him. "Cum inside me," she breathed, determined (as always) to have her way.

Ichabod moaned.

"Cum in me." She sped up her pace and kissed him again, just as hungrily. "Let me feel it," she gasped against his mouth. "Let me . . ."

Ichabod's senses went wild. So much _heat_, so much _ache_, every inch of him sheathed inside her. He clutched her hips and pulled her forward as he came with a deep, ragged sigh.

Abbie rode him out until he was spent. When it was over, she slumped down and kissed the crook of his neck before going slack against his chest. "I think that was worth a fist-bump," she giggled wearily, curling up in his lap and squirming against him as if trying to press out a an Abbie-shaped indent in his flesh.

"Agreed," Ichabod replied, still panting. "But I am thoroughly unable to move at the moment, so the sentiment will have to do."

A cozy silence settled into the room. Eventually, the two wordlessly agreed that the time had come to get dressed. Ichabod's eyes wandered around the room while Abbie smoothed down his shirt.

He drew a deep breath. "Now then . . . what would be the best use of our remaining time alone?"

Abbie grabbed the lapels of his shirt and locked him in a challenging stare. "Two words, Crane: Snowball. Fight."


	3. Snow Wars (are SERIOUS)

**I only updated to change the title. Thought of this the other day & liked it better. Plus it's more fitting. **

"You will pay for this, Mills!" Cried Ichabod as he scraped snow off his nose and dove behind a tree to escape the next deluge of snowballs, the previous two having struck him smack in the face in rapid succession.

"Not 'Miss' Mills?"

"THERE IS NO 'MISS' IN WARFARE!" he bellowed, struggling to form a decent snowball. Snow kept sticking to his gloves and compromising the structure of the whole thing. _You're getting in the way, _he thought as he tugged them off with his teeth. _Freezing hands be damned, it's time to get serious!_

He picked up a handful of snow and packed it as he ran toward the bench she was crouched behind. She poked her head up to chuck a ball at his chest, but he ducked, taking the opportunity to roll his snowball on the ground and pick up more snow. Then he continued to barrel toward the bench while Abbie hurriedly scooped up more snow.

_Watch this!_

She'd never seen him in a sporting context, which gave him an advantage. She had no idea how far or high he could leap. He launched off the ground from many feet away. He landed on the bench and hurled the snowball down on her head, then dove down and swiped the one she'd almost finished packing as he slid off the bench, meaning to crouch down and get her in the face when she popped up again. But the second his feet hit the ground, she slid beneath the bench and pulled his leg out from under him as she came. She'd pulled herself clear of the bench by the time he hit the ground. She reached under his jacket for his shirt collar, lifted it, and pushed an armload of loose snow in.

He arched up with a cold-shocked howl, regaining his focus just in time to see Abbie run off with her reclaimed snowball.

"DEVIL WOMAN!"

Her delighted laughter rung out from behind her new cover. A long row of shrubbery, a lot of it tall enough to obscure her tiny body with hardly a crouch.

_I must regain the advantage!_

A rapid-fire series of little plum-sized snowballs came hurtling toward him. Followed by the one he'd attempted to steal.

"I am a stealthy man, Mills!" He cried out as he dodged all of them. (Though the escape was not easy. He nearly slipped.) This was no time to focus on banking ammo, it was all about regaining the high ground. His eyes darted all around his surroundings.

_Know your terrain._

Meanwhile behind her shrubs, Abbie squinted and shifted to keep eyes on Ichabod through the bramble. He walked several yards backward, and seemed to be surveying the territory. Then he suddenly took off running for the public restrooms building. She dashed after him, scooping up snow as she went. She landed two shots to his back, but he didn't even turn to look at her. Nor, she noticed, was he making a snowball.

_Just what are you up to, Crane?_

He quickly disappeared behind the corner of the small building. She pressed her back against the wall the second she reached it and crept to the middle, keeping an eye on both sides.

"You think you've got me pinned down?" She yelled. "Is that what you think?" She crouched down and gathered another handful of snow. "I'm quick, my friend. As soon as I know what side you're coming from, I can dart around this building and be behind you so fast you won't know-"

An avalanche of snow came pouring down on her. She screamed and jumped around, frantically shaking her limbs. She looked up and saw Ichabod's head poking over the edge of the roof, laid flat on his belly in a patch newly cleared of snow, his head perched atop folded hands.

"Did you know there's a tree stump just 'round that corner there?" he pointed to his right. "All one need do is take it at a running leap, and jump for a good grip on roof's edge." He ducked his head to avoid a snowball. "Once that's done it's a simple matter of being able to hoist one's own weight."

"Yeah?" She ran ten or so feet away before turning to face him again. "Well you've got a limited supply of snow up there, pal." She quickly packed another ball. Packed it good and tight. "And I bet it's slippery, too!" She darted around and chucked the ball at her adversary's side while he spun on his belly in an attempt to avoid the shot, which landed squarely on his shoulder. "Maneuverability's gonna be a big problem, dumbass!"

He reared up to grab a fistful of snow, for the first considering the notion that he may be seriously outclassed in the field of snow-battle.

_Lots of Winter days ahead,_ he comforted himself. _Plenty of time for training._

Another hard-packed snowball hit him in the chest, this time from the other side. Keeping his balance was indeed an issue, costing him precious seconds.

Another snowball to the side of the face. This one packed tight enough to hurt a little. He spun toward the direction of the thing before he could think the better of it.

_You're sliding._

He slid off the edge and landed face down in the snow. But it wasn't a total loss. On the way down he figured out how to get in just a little more damage (or any damage at all) before standing down, white flag in hand.

"Uuurgh," he groaned into the snow as he made a show of his effort to get up.

"You okay?" He heard the snow crunch as she approached.

"I believe so," he rose to all fours.

She drew up beside him and crouched down enough to get ahold of his arm.

"Fool!" He shouted, grabbing her by the midsection and tackling her to the ground.

"Nooooo!" she cried out, laughing as she fell.

He pinned her down and pushed an armload of loose snow over her. She shrieked, but managed to pull one leg free and launch a foot into Ichabod's chest. He didn't fall over completely, but enough for Abbie to dislodge herself from beneath him, and toss snow in his general direction as she tried to steady herself. She was almost fully standing when Ichabod scooted close enough to get an arm around her legs and pull her forward so she pitched over his shoulder like a potato sack. He rose up on his knees and grinned (at least he thought he was grinning, he couldn't actually feel his face anymore). Abbie wailed, kicked, and launched punch after punch at his back.

"We appear to be at an impasse, Mills. For you are by far the superior warrior, but I have you trapped. And my endurance is just short of limitless. A fact of which I'm sure you are well aware given our time together these last few days. Point being, I can easily hold you here for hours."

Abbie squirmed with determination.

"I propose we declare an end to hostilities, and seal our accord with the nearest available hot beverage."

Abbie's body went still. "Fine," she sighed. Ichabod let her up. She likewise helped him to his feet.

With the heat (or rather, tit-freezing cold) of battle behind them, both realized just how soaked they were. It was a cold beyond cold.

"I believe my limbs are numb," Ichabod observed as he clenched and unclenched his hands, the finger tips and joints a bright red. "Yet somehow still throbbing."

Abbie nodded, struggled to push matted hair out of her face, and looped her arm though Ichabod's. "Beverage," she said, moving as fast as she could given the ache in her joints. Ten minutes later they were headed back to their nice warm cave, each practically molesting their coffee cups.

When they got there Abbie hobbled, stiff legged, to a giant antique travel chest against the wall and opened it to reveal shirts, pants, underthings, the works.

"Thank God Jenny actually plans for apocalyptic events." She fished out two Sleepy Hollow PD t shirts, jackets, and black pants. The bras were all Jenny's size-

_Mental note, bring in some bras-_

But boxer briefs, panties, and socks were all on hand.

They had to help each other peel off the freezing clothes clinging to their freezing-er skin.

Abbie grinned. "There's gotta be dozens of porn flicks that start exactly like this."

"Most certainly," Ichabod agreed as he pulled the t shirt down over his head. He watched as Abbie situated the new pants around her generous hips, her t shirt and jacket still waiting on the table next to them. "With good reason." His fingertips traced delicate lines above her waistband and he moved close, looking down at her body. "You may have the most phenomenal breasts ever to grace a woman's body." The hand at her waistband traveled upward to caress and stroke the the subject of his gaze. "Flawless," he whispered as his thumb wandered over a nipple.

Though her chest did begin to heave noticeably _(porn!),_ she smirked. "I'm goddamn freezing, Crane. You can grope me under the shirt."

She put on the shirt.

As per her invitation, he continued to bask in the feel of her breasts and newly alert nipples beneath his skilled hand. He threaded his other hand through her hair and brought his mouth to her throat, kissing and and licking softly at her flesh.

_Actually not so much a porn scene,_ Abbie thought. _More of a romantic chic flick scene. _She could almost hear the violin music. Still. It was working for her. _Chic flicks make money for a reason._

"I believe," Ichabod mumbled into her neck as he roamed the territory, seeking out every patch of un-kissed skin, "the clothes," he found a lovely spot just beneath the curve of her jaw, "were a mistake."

"You think so?"

"Mmmm. I'm find I'm warming quite nicely." He pressed close to her ear and whispered, "imagine how warm we could be be if I was inside you."

The suggestion won him a deep sigh and her hands at his waist. "How many times in one day can we possibly do this?"

Ichabod smiled. "We are newly coupled, dearest. It would be strange if we weren't constantly at one another."

He drifted down to Abbie's shoulder where he found another happy place.

Abbie sighed. _Screw it. I give up._

"I give up."

With Ichabod's assistance she hiked herself up his torso until she was half a head taller than him. Her legs hooked behind his back as he pressed her close against him. She ran her hands through his hair, applying just enough tug to tilt his head back, and moved her lips against his in a teasing almost-kiss. "Make me warm, Ichabod," she said quietly before welcoming his tongue with her own.

He moaned into her mouth as he walked them toward what they all referred to as 'the crash couch.' A faded tan material. Oldish but not beaten up. Extremely comfortable. He lowered her to the couch in sitting position and knelt down in front of her.

His unwavering, unguarded stare promised Abbie everything she needed in a lover, and her whole body forgot that cold _existed_. When he stood up to undress she watched him, never taking her eyes off him until she crisscrossed her arms and started to draw up her shirt.

"No!" he interrupted. "If you don't mind, I'd like to do that. All of it."

She smiled softly and placed her hands in her lap.

When he was fully undressed he returned to kneeling in front of Abbie, and pressed a long kiss to each knee before reaching for the hem of her shirt. His slipped his hands beneath the plain grey fabric and worked slowly upward, the back of his fingers trailing her flesh as he went. She arched into the contact with a sigh as he swept over her breasts.

He tossed the unwanted garment aside, then reared up on his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a breathy, oblivious kiss that could melt the arctic. He moved on to her shoulders, collarbone, and finally, the breasts he so admired.

He stroked and sucked at her nipples, his hands kneading and caressing the surrounding curves as he went. The elegant slope down her chest, peaking at a hardened nipple and the rounded, pliant fall of flesh below. He took it all in.

He guided her body to lay down on the couch and sat on his haunches between her legs, placing little kisses just above the waistline of her pants as he slid them down, along with her panties. He held each pant leg so Abbie could pull her her legs free.

And there they were. On an old couch surrounded by a bizarre collection of books and objects.

"What to do first?" He wondered aloud as his gaze wandered over her body. "So many options. And I like them all." He stroked up and down her legs as he pondered. Finally, he gave up. "Abbie my brilliant love, do please rescue me from torment. Decide for me."

"Inside," she replied, her voice small yet somehow commanding, "like you said before."

He gave a small, grateful smile and began to move forward, staying low over her body, an arm crooked on either side of her for support. He angled himself to meet and enter her waiting core as he moved. He wanted to be fully sheathed in her by the time they were close enough to kiss.

It was the right call.

She made a series of soft sounds and her head tipped back, exposing more of her throat. He ran his tongue from the space between her breasts to the slight arch of her outstretched neck, then kissed his way over the rise of her chin before brushing against her parted lips with a sigh. Her knees rose up slightly as she lifted her head enough to meet his searching mouth.

Ichabod slid one hand under writhing hips, the other under her shoulder blade. He stayed propped up on his arm (albeit at a slight angle).

Abbie hooked a leg over his calf while her hands swept over his back and shoulders, enjoying the feel of sinewy muscle at work. Lean but strong, they tensed and relaxed as he rocked inside her in a slow rhythm. So slow.

So very _slow._

Despite the frustration she grew wetter by the second. Until even her thighs were slicked with arousal. It allowed Ichabod such an effortless slide back and forth, and he took advantage-but only a bit. Abbie clenched her jaw and bucked against him, trying her damnedest to get more impact, more thrust. When the move didn't yield enough response enough to settle her need she bucked harder.

_Asshole wants me to beg!_

"Again at an impasse." He muttered against her lips. "We seem to have a pattern." He half-smirked as he gazed into her glassy, wanting eyes.

_What does it say of me that I love seeing her so tormented? _He wondered as he allowed her a small taste of what she clearly wanted. A firmer thrust and roll against her pulsing walls. She wasn't yet unhinged, but almost soaked enough to make him feel as though he were thrusting into an endless depth of ocean. If not for the movement inside her, the illusion would have been complete.

She sucked in a sudden gasp as he hit one of those special places she was so desperate to pleasure.

"Evil son of a bitch!" she hissed.

_Well hello, Dream Abbie, _he thought. _I knew I could find you in the real world._

He dipped his head down to nibble and suck at her earlobe, allowing the heat of his breath to ghost over her ear as he worked. "Is that your version of '_please_'?" he asked in the darkest, most lust-heavy voice he could conjure.

"YES!" she cried out, hoping the admission alone would be enough.

He brushed his nose against hers as he replied. "Then you need only ask directly, Miss Mills. One really ought to observe proper etiquette." He could hear the shallow breath warbling in her throat, and feel her legs shuddering at his sides. Again he picked up his speed and force only slightly.

"FUCKING PLEASE!" She cried as she dug her nails deep into his shoulder and back as the cost of her surrender.

The shouted words sent a shiver through his whole body.

_I am a cruel man._

The hand beneath her shoulder blade slid free and came to rest just to the side of her head. He rose up and braced himself. The other hand took ahold of her leg and tossed her knee in such a way that her foot came to land at his lower back.

Then he stilled himself. Motionless save for stroking down her thigh. She was just on the verge of scolding him when suddenly he gripped her ass and pulled her tight against him as he surged forward.

"See what good manners gets you?" He asked as the thrust, somehow dripping both sex _and_ smartass. He could see Abbie formulating a comeback, so he adjusted himself enough to gain easy access to her clit.

Whatever comeback Abbie had in mind was swallowed the moment he made contact. The first rise of orgasm devoured her in seconds and left her a bucking, panting, spine-shaken mess of a woman. Anchored to nothing but Ichabod.

An interesting moment.

A couple rarely cums simultaneously. At least, not without a degree of conscious effort. To ensure your partner cums first is far easier than rushing for your own finish when you see or feel theirs approaching. Despite the pretty perfection of movies, where one person's orgasm magically sets off the other's, most sex (even spectacular sex) involves one partner pleasing the other after their own orgasm. Even if only by a few minutes. All the same, on those rare occasions when the absolute release does happen in unison? It is . . . well . . . _neat._

When Ichabod's efforts overtook Abbie's body entirely, exactly such a moment happened. He intended to restrain himself and drive her over the edge a few more times before he let go, but everything about the way she came proved too much to block out. The pure pleasure coursing through her body? He could see, hear, feel, taste it. It gripped his whole soul, and there was no holding on. He spilled inside her, crying out who knows what nonsense as he came. She had him entirely. Every fiber of him. Every cell.

_I will be yours when I am dust_, he thought as he collapsed, resting his head against her chest.

They fell asleep.


	4. Learning Things

**I planned to have this one posted days ago, but apparently there's this "life" thing that happens sometimes. Anyhow, a with previous installments, some story, some smut. **

**and THANK YOU for all the reviews! **

Irving stared up at the ceiling. "There is _nothing_ on that couch I wanted to see," he said quietly, shaking his head.

Jenny tilted her head to the side. "Hm," she mused. "Not bad."

Irving headed for the door without taking his eyes off the ceiling. Jenny trotted out after him.

"Okay, we have two more boxes, and I wanna get them organized bef -"

Irving stared at her. "Excuse me? We're not going back in there until the, they - I am not indexing with naked coworkers five feet away!"

"I spent three months living with a tribe in the Congo whose version of 'clothed' was some face paint and a necklace."

"How is that relevant?!" Irving yelled - they were far enough away to not be heard in the archives room.

"Just making a point." She shrugged. "Sorry, but impending destruction of mankind and advancing armies of doom that could attack at any moment? _Tiny bit _more important than tiptoeing around a couple of lust bunnies. If we're not prepared as possible as soon as pos-"

"Jenny! I'm sure they'll be up and dressed in a while, a few hours won't -"

"Kill anyone?" She scoffed. "In our case, it actually might. Which is my point. Say they do wake up in a little while and get dressed. The smart money says that unless we walk in there at just the right time, we'll miss our window because they'll be right back at it again. You do whatever you want Captain, but I'm barging in."

Fifteen minutes later Jenny dropped her box of books on the desk with a loud _THUD_.

Both Abbie and Ichabod sat bolt upright. When they saw their present company, Abbie's shoulders slumped.

"Great," she said with a sigh. "My boss has seen me naked." She looked at her feet as she rounded up and put on her clothes.

"No longer your boss!" Random Citizen Irving pointed out for the thousandth time, eyes riveted on the books he was unpacking.

Meanwhile, Ichabod lost control of his central nervous system. He leapt up on reflex, remembered he was naked, and scrambled to gather his discarded clothes while sputtering a stream of British Awkwardness.

"Oh! Miss - and Cap - this isn't - well, no, it _is_ precisely what it looks like, clearly," he hurriedly stepped into his pants. "But I am, it's - Katrina and myself - we agreed, both, um, just last night-" he pulled on his shirt, "we . . . "

Abbie didn't know whether to slink out of the room dragging her embarrassment behind her, or sit back and watch the Crane Loses It Show. She chose the show.

Ichabod fidgeted, extremely aware of his limbs and unsure what to do with them. "- I assure you Abbie and I have not been carrying on an, an, an affair. I would never - I am - we - Katrina is - oh _God_ Abbie, get me out of this!" He collapsed to the recently defiled couch, head in hands.

Abbie stood up, smoothed back her hair, and folded her hands in front of her as though making an official announcement. "Ahem. On the night of Officer Rankin's party-"

"I knew something weird went down there!" shouted Irving, now willing to take his eyes off the books. "Sorry. Continue."

Abbie nodded. "Anyhow, there was mistletoe, aaaaaaannnd, so yeah, that happened. And it sort of . . . forced a conversation. Since Ichabod and Katrina have been legally dead for two hundred years divorce was pretty much a verbal agreement, which . . ." she looked down at Ichabod, who was almost ready to make eye contact with the others.

He sighed. "We each acknowledged that we are changed people, and to continue as husband and wife would be . . . dishonest," he added hastily, "which is not to say we bear hostilities, I do and shall always have great affection for Katrina and hold her in the highest possible regard, however -" at this point he moved to Abbie's side and placed a hesitant arm around her waist, regarding her with a warm expression. "However at some unknown point my heart drifted and has irretrievably found a home elsewhere. The only thing left to do was admit it." He nodded, officially concluding his contribution to the dialog.

Jenny and Irving turned their attention back to Abbie.

She shrugged. "What he said."

Jenny smiled at Ichabod. "Isn't she eloquent?"

Ichabod smiled down at Abbie. "Yes, her virtues are many. But!" He cried, officially transitioning from Awkward British to Let Us Never Speak of This Again British. "Now that that's out of the way, have we retrieved everything on the list?"

The rest of the work day was spent organizing books.

While they did start to correspond a bit, it was two weeks before Ichabod and Katrina had a real conversation (via phone) with one another.

They spent all of ten minutes discussing who would remain in the cabin and who would move elsewhere. While Ichabod was the more comfortable with modern life, he had lived in the cabin for over a year. Also, most of the stuff there belonged to him (or was his by default having belonged to Corbin), and there were other cabins to be had in the area. Katrina would be the one to move.

They also agreed he should be the one to help her pack - just the two of them. So they could get used to the change in their relationship. If nothing else their mutual involvement in the Apocalypse would force them to see each other frequently, so there was no point in postponing face to face contact. At the very least civility should be maintained. But the most important reason was personal. Like all successful couples (and they were successful before this drastic change befell them) they had always been great friends. Neither wanted the end of their marriage to be the end of everything.

Since the separation had been mutual, Katrina took no issue with the notion of Abbie driving him up to the cabin. Or even conversing with her (honestly Ichabod felt more strangely about it than either of them seemed to), but the Apocalypse Posse (Jenny's title, tragically it stuck) decided it was best if only one of them was otherwise occupied. So Ichabod took the bus as far as he could and walked the rest of the way. Granted it was winter, but not the coldest he'd marched through, soldier and all that. So he insisted Abbie go straight to work and let him worry about getting to the cabin.

The first thing he saw when he walked in was a flash of jeans and short hair. He couldn't be sure the color, it was gone in a flash, but someone was in his house. His whole body went on alert. He he'd entered without any attempt to be quiet about it, but the intruder hadn't seemed to notice.

He crept stealthily toward his weapons closet.

"Ichabod!" the familiar voice of Katrina rang out. She jumped from the hallway into the room, arms outspread to present herself. With good reason. She _was_ the jean-clad figure with short red hair - a slightly brighter shade than her natural color. "What do you think?"

Ichabod's expression took on a remarkable resemblance to a caught fish gasping for water.

His eyes bulged in wonder. "Katrina?!"

In addition to the jeans and haircut, she was wearing a loose fitting white top that tilted just slightly off one shoulder, and earrings Ichabod didn't quite know what to make of. A series of circular shapes in two different sorts of metal cascading in size from largest to small. She wore a necklace of a similar sort.

She rushed forward and hugged him fiercely. "I cannot thank you enough, dear Ichabod! These last weeks have been an absolute revelation for me!"

"I . . I see that . . ."

Her smile was so broad it seemed as though she could swallow the sofa. "I believe I was clinging so hard to who we were because our marriage was my most solid anchor. My foundation. And as long as I clung to who I was in the time when we fell in love, I could deny the world around me. But looking back I truly think I've been secretly pushing down the urge jump into things the time! It was only fear that kept me clinging to a crutch."

Ichabod struggled to keep up with the excited monologue pouring from Katrina.

"The very day you left - well, that I evicted you - do you know what I did?"

Ichabod shook his head, still in a state of shock. "I couldn't begin to guess."

"I spent the whole day in modern ladies underthings," she whispered, then raised her voice to normal. "I'd always taken it for granted that on most days the relief of un threading one's corset in the evening and getting into a loose gown, then binding up again at sunrise was just part of a woman's life and never gave it much thought, but _oooohhhh_ -" she made a nearly orgasmic noise. "To wear these garments all day?" She clutched her breasts, clearly indicating her modern bra. "Ichabod, I never realized what it could feel like to be free of the thing all day _every day!_ To say nothing of all the skirting and bloomers," she said the words with contempt. "Anyhow after that I went wild!"

"Yes, I had discerned as much," Ichabod replied, still not quite caught up to the reality before him.

"One of my witch friends has been trotting me all about town, showing me things - have you tried sushi yet?"

"Um . . ." Ichabod knew of the food, but had yet to try it because it seemed too . . . well, raw. It made him nervous.

"Oh it's brilliant!" She lunged forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I shall take you sometime!"

Ichabod finally got a grip on his senses. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my wife!?" He exclaimed.

"Dearest," she cupped his face with friendly affection. "You don't have a wife!"

"Oh that's right," he muttered, already wondering what he'd think of sushi. "So what did you do with all of your corsets and such?" he asked. (They'd purchased her a supply of familiar clothing from the reenactment people.)

"I burnt them," she declared as she headed toward the kitchen to return to the task of packing. "All three thousand pounds of them."

Ichabod was both dazed and pleased as he followed his _very new_ friend to the kitchen. In the course of the day, Ichabod learned the following about modern Katrina:

Loves sushi

Loves a band called 'Fleetwood Mac'

Likes a television series called 'White Collar'

Would marry the male lead of White Collar if he wasn't homosexual

Knows what a homosexual is

Finds baseball boring

Enjoys watching soccer and playing tennis

Went 'clubbing' with a few friends last weekend, had fun until the place got too crowded and loud

They were taking a lunch break eating pizza when Katrina told him about how she surprised her friends (especially the ones who know where she's from) when she won a game of "craziest and/or most scandalous place you've ever had sex" thanks to her and Ichabod's marriage. The Church bell tower during Sunday Service.

"They were utterly shocked. My idea of crazy sex was supposed to be doing it standing up." She giggled. "I told them 'ladies, polite society did not flaunt the naughtier details so openly as now, but I assure you the silence was purely for decorum's sake.'"

Ichabod nodded while he wound a long string of cheese around his finger. "I once told Abbie to google '18th century erotic art.' You should have seen the look on her face." He pulled the coil of cheese off his finger with his teeth and sighed happily . "Abbie and I shall have to begin building our catalog of 'prize winning' erotic tales."

"Mm," Katrina replied as she chewed her mouthful of pepperoni and mushroom. "I'm thinking of purchasing a vibrator." She helped Ichabod with his glass of water while he choked and coughed.

The _location_ wasn't scandalous, but Ichabod and Abbie got the chance to really play around six weeks later.

They awoke at the cabin one morning to find themselves trapped in a glacial wasteland. Not the 'heavy snowfall' the weather report predicted. This was a borderline ice-age super-dump of every snowflake in the eastern US. A mammoth could stroll by and fit right in.

"How long do you think it'll take us to carve a path to the car?" Abbie asked.

Ichabod squinted in the general direction of where they usually parked. "I'm not entirely sure which lump of snow is the car." He groaned. "And then there's my long driveway to consider. And then the road that leads to the road that leads to the first road I can imagine the city taking care of. It should perhaps have occurred to one of us that I should have my own small snow truck, being out this far. If nothing else it would motivate me to learn how to drive." He'd been dragging his feet on that one.

_I'm sure Katrina's already saving up for her first Mustang._ He thought, rolling his eyes. _I shall do it! _He promised himself, newly determined not to be out-moderned by someone who'd only been here (free of captivity) for five months. He still refused to get a haircut, but since Katrina's rescue he had begun to dabble in modern clothes for the sake of encouraging her by example - dabble being the operative word. But he would not be trapped in his own home for no reason besides his own stubborn rejection of motor vehicles. _Driving lessons! It's the first thing I do when this mess melts._

Irving and Jenny both lived in parts of the town the DOT cared about, so they were able to get to the archives room. Later than usual, but they made it. They spent the next several days video conferencing and emailing images back and forth whenever the wifi wasn't knocked out.

"Do you suppose it's cold enough for hell to _literally_ freeze over?" Asked Abbie wistfully. "I'd like a quiet winter."

"We can always hope," Ichabod replied as he wrapped his arms around her midsection and propped his chin on her head. "I think tomorrow it may be melted off enough for us to try shoveling."

"I hope so," Abbie sighed. "I'm starting to go stir crazy in here."

Ichabod empathized. A lot. "Yes throwing pennies into jars from across the room has lost its luster."

Abbie chuckled.

If this were their first week together the captivity would have just meant the chance to spend every waking hour either going at it, or resting up to go at it again. But now - though they were still 'new couple' frisky - it wasn't the same constant compulsion as the first week.

"You know," Ichabod nuzzled at Abbie's hair. "As long as we're wanting for distraction, this may be a good time to . . . take things up a notch. "

She tilted her head back to look at him. "Like throw _quarters_ into jars?"

"No," he threaded his fingers through hers and pulled them around her waist. "I was just thinking back to the night we had the good fortune to find ourselves under that mistletoe. He felt her posture perk up against him. "And the subsequent night of dreams that followed. We've both agreed, have we not, that each contained at least a trace of the other's proclivities?"

Her posture squirmed a bit. "Yes."

"Well. Dearest. In a few of mine you affected quite an interesting quality."

Abbie sensed the best kind of trouble was headed her way. "Interesting how? Was I wearing a bunny suit?"

"No," Ichabod nuzzled her with a low chuckle. "In fact in one of them you wore whatever I told you to." He bit her earlobe a little too hard to qualify as a nibble. "Enthusiastically."

"Enthusiastically? Followed orders?" Abbie shook her head and bit back a smartass grin. "Doesn't sound like me at all."

"No it doesn't. And yet . . ." he sighed, his fingers tracing tiny, feathered circles over her wrists. "You seemed to quite enjoy me being downright . . . _mean."_

"You're suggesting what, exactly?"

He spun her around and pinned her against the window, his soft caring eyes transformed to something just shy of menace. "I am suggesting, Miss Mills, that I if you like I could endeavor to be the most _unpleasant_ man you everencountered." He nipped her lower lip. "Or who _dared_ encounter you."

"Unpleasant, huh?" She ordered her body to betray no sign of arousal. "And how would you go about that?"

"Mmmm," He sighed against her lips. "You will be neither told nor consulted."

Her pulse hitched. "If we're going that far we'll need a Safeword. How about -"

"Snow." He cut her off. "The Safeword is snow. Right. Now that's settled, center of the room, face the couch, everything off but bra and panties."

Ichabod went to the couch and sat, legs crossed, while Abbie took her place at the center of the room and started to undress. His expression and posture read of total indifference until she dropped her shirt on the floor.

"No."

Abbie froze.

"Clothes neatly folded and set on that chair." He pointed to a chair in the corner. "I will not have _guests_ cluttering up my home."

Abbie finished undressing then folded and delivered the clothes to their assigned spot.

"Hmmmm," Ichabod stood up and regarded her with a slow, wandering eye as she walked back to the center of the room. "Where does a man begin with a body like yours?" He approached her with a confident stride. "I could be nice," his fingertips teased beneath the waistband of her panties. "Or . . . " instead of going forward under the fabric he removed his fingers, and slid his hand over the panties.

_Hold still! _Abbie scolded herself as her her hips begged for permission to rock against his firm touch.

He stepped closer to her and pushed in as deep as he could with a fabric barrier in the way. He worked at her until he found the right spot to make her gasp and twitch. "You are lovely," he whispered, his lean, strong fingers patiently coaxing her sex to full arousal.

Abbie was on the brink of giving in and letting her hips do as they pleased when his attentions stopped abruptly.

"I'm going to pour myself a drink. Would you like one, Abbie?" His evil smile loomed over her. "And do keep in mind that this may well be the last choice I let you have today."

"Thanks, but I'm not thirsty." _Shit!_ She thought. _You sound worked up as all hell and the man has barely touched you, don't be so goddamn easy!_

He leaned down and bit her shoulder with a dark laugh, and she saw her chance to regain some ground. She side-eyed the mark and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Ichabod quirked his head. "Thoughts?"

Abbie shrugged. "Well what am I, a feather?"

"Mmmmm," he brushed his lips over the impression of his teeth. "Not at all." He kissed his way up the line of her throat and hovered over her mouth, darting his tongue along hers for a half second. "You are solid granite." He whispered as he grabbed her arms and yanked her into a frantic kiss that had her hands fisted in his shirt, his hair, and,clutching at his arms. He, meanwhile, clawed at her back, ass, legs - any part of her that writhed within reachable distance, really.

Then without warning he broke the kiss. "Now, about that whiskey," he chirped, nonchalant as he spun on his heel and walked away.

She barely managed to keep from falling over while two parallel thoughts screamed in her head:

_You FUCKER!_

and:

_Get back here, get back here, get back here!_

He poured his drink wandered back in no real hurry. To Abbie's almost painful dismay, he sat on the couch. "An observation," he said with a professor-like seriousness as he took a small sip of his drink. "You my love, are half unraveled."

Abbie wanted to argue otherwise, but she knew she'd only look foolish.

"So," another small sip. "Either a few simple commands and a mere hint of force is truly all it takes to crack granite - unlikely - or all previous lovers who so much as attempted this for you were bungling, skittish _kittens_." A long, savored sip. "Do I have that right?"

She nodded. "Most. Two were pretty decent."

"Oh. _Decent," _he took down the rest of his whiskey in one go and set the tumbler on the lamp stand. "That's _adorable."_ He rose slowly and approached her again, standing just off to her side so his arm touched her shoulder.

She felt her insides shudder like crazy when he hooked his index finger through the narrow waistband of her panties and tugged downward.

"I don't traffic in _decent."_ His voice burst with lust and confidence as he continued. "I imagine . . . " he pulled the waistband down further. "I could have your thighs slicked without moving from this spot." He pushed the panties down further so they were at a slant. One side half down, the other side still in place. He moved around to the back of her with a deep sigh as his hand wandered down the slope and swell of her ass. "I do so admire this sight. It's nearly perfect."

Despite her best effort, Abbie's flesh began to visibly shiver. She clenched her jaw and throbbed with the need for this to be something other than a tease.

"All it needs-" he raked his nails back up the fleshy curve.

Abbie hissed.

"Is a little _attention."_

She cried out when he landed a firm slap to the object of his gaze.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning out loud.

"I am nothing if not attentive," he breathed against her ear. "It's rather a point of pride with me. Surely you've noticed."

He took his hand off her ass and Abbie panicked, afraid he was off to the kitchen again and half prepared to risk the consequences of cursing at him out loud if she was right.

Ichabod felt her body tense up and chuckled, quite proud of himself. Up to this point he'd managed to keep himself from becoming fully erect. A strenuous effort and honestly the only reason he'd contrived a way to take a whiskey break without actually disrupting his work. But since he clearly had her at his absolute mercy, he decided it was time to really get things going. "I plan to care for you properly, Abbie," he whispered as one hand clasped her bra and the other slithered slowly toward her panties.

She gave up all effort to restrain herself, shaking and panting as he tossed aside the bra and pulled her body firm against his. "Fucking _finally!" _She moaned when his fingers dipped beneath the fabric while grinding the straining, needy length of himself against her.

"Getting a tad frustrated were we?" He began to rub her clit alternating between small circles and large, firm then gentle. He was too tall to push any fingers inside her without crouching so he settled for working her clit until her breath went ragged and her shoulders shook.

Ichabod's own discipline was hanging by a thread, but he was determined to cling to it until the last possible second. He was not prone to jealousy, and had no issue with the reality of her past lovers. But in this one specific sort of sex he found himself consumed with the desire to make fools of those before him.

He swung himself around her her body, sinking to his knees and pulling down her panties as he went. The second she stepped free of them he plunged his tongue into her and drew his nails forcefully down the back of her thighs.

The move was so sudden Abbie's whole body jerked as though struck with an electric prod. "Ah!" she cried out. "Holy - oh fuck, _fuck! _You could -" she sucked several delighted, shuddering breaths, "you at least could warn me!"

His tongue was instantly replaced by two fingers as he delivered several quick, sharp bites to the fleshiest part of her thigh. "I _could," _he rumbled before tracing his tongue along the outline of her hip - a part of her he didn't think he'd ever tire of - "but why the hell why would I when surprise makes you fall apart so beautifully?"

She held on to Ichabod's head to maintain her balance as he continued his work, massaging inside her with vigorous enthusiasm. She basked in every push, every press, and the warmth of his tongue as it lapped so gently. All contrasted against the decisive sting when he bit or clawed her flesh. "Were you planning to fuck me at some point?" she asked, too wet to bother with subtlety.

He ceased his attentions abruptly and rose to his feet. "Not if I hear another unsolicited question like that I won't." He ran his dampened, tendril-like fingers up her body and curled them around her throat, much as Dream Ichabod did on occasion. "Make that mistake again and it's back to pennies and jars for you."

"You -" she panted. "You couldn't." She was confident in the statement. "No way. Not now." She rocked her hips against him seeking proof.

He grit his teeth and tried to block out the nearly unbearable urge to throw her over the couch and do as he pleased. "Not only _could I, _dear one, but talk back to me again and I shall _make you_ return to the pennies while I damn well take care of myself. In full view of you." He pinned her arms behind her back and rasped into her ear, "imagine what hell that would be."

"Please don't," she gulped, hoping to God the simple capitulation would get her what she wanted.

"You're in quite the wrecked state, aren't you?" His shaft ached for her warmth, and his already darkened voice dropped an octave. "I imagine I could have you over that couch and screaming in a blink."

"Yes," she tried desperately not to whine the word. The success of her effort gave new meaning to the words 'pathetic failure.'

"Well, since you said please," he turned her around, kissed her softly, and nuzzled her nose, singing and purring with indecent delight. "Twine, or scarf?"

"Huh?" she asked.

"With what shall I bind you?"

The words alone pushed her near the brink of orgasm.

"Twine," she breathed without hesitation. A scarf just seemed too . . . _soft._

"Twine it is. I shall fetch it." He turned her body to face the window and caressed her arms, regarding her with great tenderness. "You may pleasure yourself while I'm gone." He kissed his way up the line of her shoulder and purred in her ear, "I can only stand to be so cruel to you."

Abbie took advantage of the allowance the second he was out of the room. Her head and shoulders rolled with the motion of her hands as she massaged and pushed into her center, practically painting her thighs with the abundant evidence of how intensely she wanted him inside her. The eighth of a brain cell she had left at her disposal worked to quiet her moaning.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when Ichabod's hands closed in around her. Her eyes snapped open and she watched his skilled hands wrap a length of twine around her wrists and tie it off - making sure there was just enough give to allow for blood flow. She made a mewling noise when she realized Ichabod was undressed, his rigid, naked length grinding against her.

It was enough to send her mind hurtling away, un-missed.

Ichabod reveled in the the always stunning sight and sound of her as she came. He took ahold of her hips and steered her to the couch, then bent her over the back of it and drove into her as if she was indeed made of granite.

They both cried out.

She bucked against him, seeking even greater friction as her muscles rippled and clenched harder and harder with every aggressive thrust.

"You! Will! Ruin! Me!" He growled as he went on plunging into her without restraint.

She bucked and rocked her hips even after the full shock of orgasm settled to a shivering afterglow. She was determined to make Ichabod cum inside her. Sacrifice himself completely and give her body everything she'd given him. She whined, keened, and moaned his name when she felt him begin to swell. She could tell he was trying to say something back, but every syllable was lost in a strangled cry.

Finally he came, blind and mindless. Driving with desperate force toward absolute relief. It seemed to go on forever, as if he hadn't come since before the war.

A thin sheen of sweat covered them both when they collapsed to the couch, panting and delirious. Ichabod rallied the energy to prop himself up and unbind Abbie's wrists before settling in next to her.

"Was I adequately _stern?"_ he asked as he pushed matted, tangled hair away from her face.

She ran a hand down his chest and shrugged. "It's a baseline."

He chuckled and gave her a playful shove. "God, I love you."


	5. Abbie's Mistletoe

**I'm so glad y'all seem to to be liking this series! I posted the first chapter on an impulse "one time" thing. Glad I did it!**

**Also, you'll probably see another chapter up before the end of the week. I've had a medical issue that has rendered my body (TEMPORARILY) limited, but my mind fully intact. Which = boredom, which = lots of writing!**

**FYI for those of you who may be re-reading this, a minor character formerly named Max has been changed to Mark, as accidentally named another character Max in later chapters, and he's more important than this one. **

**Lastly, this one is a little "different." Hope you like it.**

She sat in the car drumming her fingers on the steering wheel and berating herself. _'Oh why the hell not.'_ _That's what I said. 'Why the hell not.' Moron! Note for the future: do not__ kiss married coworkers for any reason EVER! Fuck mistletoe, just - just no! __NEVER!_

She sighed and turned the key in the ignition.

_I will go home, sleep off this hormonal bullshit, and when I go to work tomorrow Crane is Crane and I'm me and we're all good. _She eased cautiously onto the residential street. _We'll be totally over this by New Years!_ She had faith in their witness bond. A split second of stupid was nothing.

_Normal by New Year . . . _she told herself over and over that night as she drifted off to sleep._ Normal by New Year . . . _

Abbie side-eyed Mr. and Mrs. Crane with a smile. They looked adorable together waltzing around the room with ease. The countdown to New Year was only twenty minutes away, and while her and Crane's relationship _did_ go right back to normal after the Christmas party incident (though it had required some discipline at first, at least on her part) she planned to make absolutely certain they were nowhere near one another when the clock struck midnight. Not that there was the slightest risk of another 'kissing accident', but the similarity of the ritual could make for an awkward moment. Nope, when it came time for kissing and singing he'd be with Katrina, and she'd be on the other side of the room kissing her date Mark.

_Mark? Mike? M something, right? And where the hell is he?_

She caught a glimpse of him through the crowd chatting with friends. He seemed nice enough, but they were clearly just 'New Years dates.' Each other's 'person to kiss at midnight so I don't stand out like a sad lonely thumb.' He smiled and waved at her. She responded in kind, glad to know they were clearly on the same wavelength.

Seventeen minutes later she and Mark were stationed next to one another as planned. She also couldn't see Ichabod or Katrina. Perfect. Suddenly Mark's cell phone buzzed - he was a trauma surgeon, and thus exempt from the normal Special Occasion Etiquette wherein anybody who intrudes on your night can fuck off.

"Dammit! I'm sorry, I have to go," he said with an apologetic shrug. "Huge car wreck, four critical condition and -"

"S'okay," Abbie assured him. "Good luck." He gave her a polite kiss on the cheek and she watched him thread his way though the crowd until he was out of sight. "Well that tanks my plan," she grumbled under her breath. She really did not want to be stuck in a room with a hundred fuzzy couples kissing and cute-ing all over the place.

_Time to find somewhere to hide._

The party was being held in an old mansion owned by the Historical Society. Plenty of rooms. Abbie left the Great Room and trotted down the hall quite a long way until she saw a door slightly ajar to her left.

_Jackpot! _

"Aw, you gotta be kidding me," she mumbled when she walked into a large library-like room and saw Ichabod in an worn-down leather chair, slumped and looking generally troubled.

"Abbie!" He leapt to his feet. "What brings you so far away from the festivities?"

She shrugged. "My date had to take off. I didn't feel like being around a buncha couples."

Ichabod shifted his feet. "Ah. Yes that can be uncomfortable."

Abbie looked around the room. "Where's Katrina?"

His posture stiffened. "She um . . . she left."

"Not feeling well?" An uneasy feeling crept into Abbie's gut, but she did her best to conceal it.

Ichabod cleared his throat and looked at the ground. "We had a bit of a . . . quarrel."

_Do not ask what about!_

"What about?" She asked, approaching him slowly as if he were a skittish animal. "Is everything okay?"

His eyes wandered around the room, anxious and uncertain. He shook his head. "It's best if I don't . . . " he backed away from her and ran into a massive oak desk.

Abbie joined him on the table, and wiggled sideways so she faced him. "Crane, you need to talk to me, okay?"

"We've done so well," Ichabod whispered, sinking down on the desks behind him. his jaw clenched.

"Well yeah," Abbie smiled. "The two of you have been great lately. I'm sure whatever your fight was -"

"No, _we've_ done well." He finally looked directly at her. "You and I. We have bantered, socialized, been friends as always . . ." He looked at his hands and drew a long, deep breath. "Things have been - have seemed - almost as they were before the night of -"

"No." She hopped off the desk. "This is a terrible time to have this discussion."

"The fight was about you." Ichabod mumbled quietly. "Or rather the two of us."

Abbie put her hands on her hips and sighed. "I can tell her there's nothing going on with us if you need me to."

"Irrelevant," he warbled, sounding defeated. "She knows there's nothing going on. But Katrina also knows _me_ inside and out, Abbie. And it was plain as day to her that I was _ill_ at the thought of you kissing Mark - proper man though he is." A sad darkness swelled in his eyes.

Abbie's body began to heat up. _Cut it the fuck out! _She wracked her brain to think of a way to shut down the conversation.

But Ichabod went on. " . . .and angry, and just generally bitter." He shrugged. "I suspected she could tell, so I tried to keep us maneuvered some distance away from you and Mark. I hoped to at least minimize . . . " he trailed off. "But when I suggested to her we leave the room - even perhaps go home? That's when she . . . . 'lost it.' She took us here, to this room, and berated me that I would choose to tell my own wife a convenient lie of omission. What is it you told me once? A half a truth is a whole lie?" He paused again and drew a worried breath. "Abbie, tell me that's not what we've been doing these last weeks." He took ahold of her arm and pulled her toward him, meeting minimal resistance. "Please. Please say those exact words."

"Crane! Listen to me. We've been doing. . ." she crossed her arms in front of her, trying to rally conviction. "We're doing exactly what we need to do, okay? Even without Katrina in the mix there's plenty of reasons we -"

"God I love this dress on you," he whispered, eyes glued to the slit in her form fitting dress. Then slit went nearly all the way up her thigh. Abbie's pulse hitched when he reached out and ghosted cautious fingers along the line of it, his touch less a than a hair away from her bare skin. "It does wonders for you."

His hand drifted up to her waist and he gently coaxed her closer to him.

She dropped her arms and allowed herself to be led.

"Those moments I wasn't consumed by jealousy over you and Mark . . . " his eyes followed his hand as it drifted upward even further. "I spent trying not to imagine the body beneath this dress."

Abbie opened her mouth to say something, anything, to shut him down, but she couldn't manage the words.

The cut of her dress was such that it zipped under the arm. Ichabod traced up the line of the zipper until he reached the tab, closed his fingers around it with delicate caution. There he paused. When Abbie neither spoke nor moved he pulled down slowly.

Abbie's pulse raced as she tried not to notice her partner's growing hardness._ I give up, _she thought as everything about the moment took her from 'damp' to wet. _I have no interest in leaving this room un-fucked._

Ichabod moaned softly as he slipped his hand beneath the loosened fabric to trace the lush silhouette of her breast (the dress was also such that it required no bra). He brought his arm to the small of her back and pulled her newly willing body against own.

Abbie sighed into the contact and wrapped her own arms around his shoulders as he lapped and nipped his way from collarbone to breasts, nudging the dress sleeves off her shoulders as he worked. She arched her back to accommodate his search for sensitive flesh, gasping happily every time he found it.

Ichabod ran his tongue over her lower lip, but the first thing he did when she allowed him access was mutter "touch me," and went on with kissing her while she stroked him through his pants. The whole length of him was fully hard and throbbing with anticipation of release.

"Help me," she muttered back, struggling with the unfamiliar task of dealing with drawstring rather than a zipper or buttons. A job made all the more difficult with her attention divided and ability to focus severely compromised.

He helped.

"Oh!" he cried out when her fingers first curled around him. "Abbie . . . _Abbie."_

She ran her thumb over the tip of him, his length practically shivering in her hand. "Panties off," she panted when he broke this kiss. "Get them off me now, Crane!"

He dove beneath the slit of her dress, the thing that had started it all, and hiked it up enough get ahold of her panties and push them over her hips. She wiggled them down to her ankles and kicked them off, discarding her heels while she was at it. He fought to keep from swelling in her hand and ignore his longing to be inside her, surrounded by welcoming heat. Instead he pushed his thigh between her legs and gripped her ass, pulling her onto him and grinding her sex against him with as much friction as possible. Again he nearly came when he realized the wet of her was enough to soak his pant leg.

"More! More!" she gasped as her hands fisted and tugged the back of his shirt, seeking access to bare flesh. The plea won her a set of two fingers rubbing at her clit with tremendous acuity. The muscles inside her shuddered and begged for something to grasp. Unable to bear the frustration he seemed determined to elicit, she pushed him back on the table so he was propped on his elbows, and surged forward to mount him in one seamless move.

He took the cue and made room on the table to accommodate their prone bodies, sweeping all impediments out of the way without the slightest concern for where they may land. Abbie was equally apathetic on the matter.

The dress was hitched up far enough for her to spread her legs and give Ichabod an unambiguous declaration of her wish. He moaned when he saw her shamelessly splayed out and slicked with lust.

She scooted down enough to get her heels around his waist and bring him forward over her. He resisted the move.

"Not yet," he whined, voice strangled as he fought his own impatience. Instead he stayed on his haunches and massaged his fingers into her entrance. "If I do I'll be gone in mere minutes." he curled his fingers forward, and gasped when she arched her back and cried out. _"Minutes,"_ he answered her cry, "I will not allow it!"

She arched her back, too frantic to argue. He went on working inside her, pushing deeper, searching out every spot that made her walls ripple and her back arch off the table. She started to cum when he pressed and stroked the thumb of his other hand over her clit. Her thigh muscles jumped erratically, hips bucked against him and rolled in time to the slide and curl of his fingers.

When he knew he had her in the full grip of orgasm he removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, lapping and flicking at her clit. Meanwhile, he stroked himself with enough speed and pressure to relive some of the ache, but not enough to spill himself. Determined though he was to see her through first, he was equally determined to cum inside her - doubly so considering her obvious desire to have him.

After she came he spent a few minutes bringing her back to a decent plateau, by this time prepared to sell his soul to any taker for the chance to feel her surrounding him. Ichabod brought himself over her, and moaned as a gentle shiver greeted his wanting shaft. He continued playing at her clit as much as possible while he thrust, determined not to entirely abandon her pleasure for his own.

She looped her arms under his and gripped his back as he picked up speed, his forehead falling just above the crook of her neck. The rasping, growling impact of orgasm landing heavy on her ear.

The last thing she felt before she woke up was his soft, wearied kisses at her neck.

_I have never hated my ceiling more,_ she thought as she stared up at it. Her second thought, once she caught her breath was about new panties. _Need new panties. _She waited a few more minutes before tossing aside the blankets and wobbling her way to the dresser. _If I keep having dreams like that tomorrow's gonna be even more awkward. _She grumbled as she pulled on her panties and took the dirty ones to the laundry hamper. _No more sleep for Abbie._

She trudged to the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going, then meandered to the couch to wait for the beep. _Why did I know what *he* was feeling during the dream? _She wondered as she listened to the hiss and drip of the coffee machine. _Oh well, _she shrugged it off. _Dream logic._

For no reason she could think of she walked to her front door and opened it, and was greeted by the sight of cartoon angry birds flying through the sky toward grunting green piggies.

She sighed. "Sooooooo, I fell asleep on the couch."

She felt long arms curl around her midsection and a chin coming to rest on her head.

"Indeed you have."

"Oh, mother of all fuck!"

Ichabod's confused face peeked over her shoulder. "Not the response I'd anticipated."

"Nope," she threw his arms off her and slammed the door shut. "Uh-uh. Not happening. No more sex dreams, it's over!"

_Stupid. Fucking. Mistletoe._

He stepped backward as if to accommodate her wish, but made no to attempt to hide a cheeky, knowing grin. "We'll see how long that lasts."

"Asshole," she scoffed, stomping back to the couch and sitting down with a huff. "I'm just gonna sit here and wait to wake up. You have yourself a nice evening, Crane."

The grin went away as he sunk to the ground in front of her, balancing himself on his toes. "A few observations, if I may?"

Abbie shrugged, seething apathy.

"You could have flung me out the door the moment I put my arms around you. You didn't." He paused. "Or at the very least," his hands swept up her thighs, "put on some pants to cover up these . . . _marvelous_ underthings." His voice practically spun silk in the air as he spoke. His fingers began to rise and push the hem of her nightshirt up, exposing a hint of flesh above her plain cotton underwear. "So simple," he mused, "but on you they look like pure sex."

The coffee machine beeped and she swatted him away. "Imma go have some coffee."

She fetched a mug from the kitchen cupboard, and when she turned to reached for the pot there was Ichabod standing in front of it.

"Coffee won't work," he grinned. "You're already dreaming." He picked her up and set her on the counter, depositing one bare leg on either side of him. His hands went to her waist, and the cheeky grin came back. Now back to those underthings . . . I could have you leaping out of them in minutes."

"Is that so?" asked Abbie as she set the mug down next to her. He pulled her close, so she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Seconds if I _really_ put my mind to it."

Abbie couldn't help but laugh. "Are you actually this arrogant in bed?"

"I might be. You can find out tomorrow at work."

Despite their proximity and intimate arrangement, Abbie shook her head, still resolute in the belief that things must not be allowed to go any further than the mistletoe.

"No I won't," she declared, pushing him aside again and hopping off the counter. "Because I will be busy _working, _and so will you."

"With my love sitting not five feet away?" He tilted her chin up and brought his mouth maddeningly close to hers. "Dearest, I haven't a prayer." He brushed his lips against hers before going on. "I don't care if I stare at that damn scroll hard enough to set it ablaze, my unswayable focus will be _you."_

_STUPID. FUCKING. MISTLETOE!_

Though she didn't shove him away this time, she again shook her head (she was doing that a lot). "You're still shit outta luck, Crane. I have this thing called discipline, okay? And I am not gonna be led around on a hormone leash! We have a job. We will do the job. A few weeks back at it and what happened will just be a . . . I dunno, a weird-ish memory."

"You are determined then?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Resolute?"

"Completely!"

Without any physical contact, he backed her against the refrigerator. "Then why not take tonight and get all this lust out of your system?"

"Excuse me?"

"Poof!" he said with a wave of his hand. "clear it away like washing a dish. Shouldn't be too difficult, what with you being so bloody _disciplined."_

Though she was smart enough to realize he was baiting her, the idea itself did kind of make sense. She'd rather cut off her legs than admit to Ichabod (even the dream version) how much she dreaded the upcoming struggle of getting over her feelings, so eliminating even one factor - simple curiosity - could make it easier to withstand the rest.

Their connection.

Attraction.

Love.

_Screw 'em all, at least I can get rid of the 'what if' factor._

Who knows how many dreams I'll have tonight? She thought. _For all I know this is the last one. And then it's back to . . . _she couldn't even stand to think about it anymore.

"Good point," was all she said before grabbing his head and crushing his lips against hers.

He responded instantly, hiking her up the fridge, guiding her legs around his waist and returning her to the kitchen counter while she controlled their kiss. She was relentless in pursuit of his mouth. Every millimeter her tongue could reach, hardly coming up for air, Ichabod merely struggling to keep up. She broke contact only to remove her shirt and tear his off with a ferocious desire to feel him against her. This time he held her away.

"Hold on, hold on, Abbie slow down," he insisted softly. "We needn't be in a rush."

"You don't understand, I could wake up any time!"

Ichabod cradled her face in his hands. "Your point?"

She threaded her fingers through his already disheveled hair. "So when I do wake up, this never happens again," she said.

Ichabod nuzzled at the flesh just under her jaw, placing gentle kisses as he went. "I refuse to believe that."

"Believe what you want." She angled herself over his mouth. "You're just a damn dream and I need as much of us as I can get right _now!"_ Her tone teetered close to desperate - a thing she'd at least try to disguise with Real Ichabod, but it wasn't like Dream Ichabod was going to rat her out. So she felt free to display a downright pitiful sort of lust. She hooked her legs around his waist and kissed his chest and shoulders until he was swayed to allow her tongue against his again, though wordlessly insistent that they slow the pace of things.

She sighed as his warm hands pulled her close, swept over her back, gently kneaded her breasts, occasionally teased her excited nipples with agile fingers. It wasn't until she scooted far forward enough to feel the tip of his erection - weeping enough to soak through his pants, no less - that she decided it was time to get off the counter.

She nudged him back far enough to jump down and switch their places, going to work on his drawstrings even as she sunk to her knees.

"Oooooh," Ichabod moaned, the sensation of her fingers against him a sharp pleasure. "I must . . ." he paused to rally the breath to speak. "I feel . . . I should - oh _God!" _he cried out, head flung back as Abbie took him in her mouth.

More breathing.

"I tend to be . . . oh, _oh_ . . . rather obsessed with my lover's pleasure at-" he drew a sharp breath "- at, at least in the thrall of newness." He paused to gasp and pant. "Would never . . . allow this . . . everything, all of it -" he was rendered speechless again when she ran her tongue over the head of him while her hand stroked his shaft with a perfect grip. "Would be . . . for her."

She pulled back just far enough to speak, but made sure the heat of her breath still visited enough pleasure to keep him in need. "Lover-'s'?" she queried. " I thought it was nothing 'til marriage in your day."

Ichabod. "My day was not so chaste as we pretended," he whispered, pressing his thumb to her lips. She took the cue and pulled it into her mouth. "Mmmmm . . . especially not . . . ooooooh," he moaned. "Not in the case of soldiers."

Abbie looked up and gave him a wicked grin. "So you were fuckin' slutty?" she asked before running her tongue up the length of him.

"Ah! Ah!" he gathered his senses in spite of her obscenely talented mouth. "No, but - oh God, I thank the man who trained you! - But there was the occasional 'fuck.' Some re-re-recurring." He fisted his hand in her hair, but didn't force her pace. "It stopped when I -"

She could hear self control peeling away from him like old, unwanted paint.

"When Katrina and I -" he mewled when she once again pulled back, and sighed in relief when she lapped at his length in between words.

"You better," a quick flick of her tongue, "have stopped, Crane." A long, firm sweep that ended when she licked away several drops of pre-cum. "Or we'd have a problem."

He chuckled and tilted her head to meet his gaze despite the intense desire to feel her mouth surround him. "What does it matter, Abbie? If this won't ever happen again, as you contend?"

The question struck her in uncomfortable places.

His previously lustful eyes turned serious. "You would not have said such a thing were you truly so convinced as you seem."

She shivered, her mind stuck somewhere between arousal and pain. She sighed and leaned into his touch as he stroked her face.

"I will fight for us, I swear it," he whispered.

She tried to push down the conflicted feeling and go back to pleasuring his weeping erection, but he stopped her.

"I love you." His voice was quiet, yet strong with absolute certainty.

_It won't happen again,_ she thought. _You may as well say it back._

"I love you," she replied before taking him in again as deep as she could to chase away the moment. He seemed to understand her need to drop the subject - or she was just that good - because he threw his head back and cried out over and over again until he came. She braced herself for the salty spill and swallowed him quickly with every thrust.

When it was over he slid down the counter, a sheen of near-sweat on his brow, and pulled her close to him as though she were a warm blanket.

"I feel I've cheated you," he mumbled into her hair.

She forced his arms away from her and straddled him. "Hey," she smiled, "if you're the big _stud_ claim to be, I'm sure you can get hard again." She rolled her hips for emphasis. "And you're talking, so clearly your tongue still works." She kissed him deeply, meeting enthusiastic response. "You have ten minutes, Crane." She fell off his lap and rested against his heaving chest. "Then I expect action."

"Mmmm," he mused, placing a kiss to her forehead. "I shall be at you in five."

That dream ended before her 'turn' came around but there were so many more, and in most of them he was so ardently committed to her pleasure, she really couldn't complain.

She was glad when she showed up to work the next morning that Crane had yet to arrive. It would give her some time to get good and solidly tucked into work. When he did show up, she made sure to give nothing more than a small smile and a wave.

"Hey."

They spoke sporadically, and always about work, but she could feel him looking at her more and more as the hours went on.

_Please say nothing, please say nothing, please say nothing._

But then it happened.

"Abbie I cannot abide ignoring what happened between us -" and so forth.

She couldn't accept it. The odds against them were too steep. But in the back of her mind there was Dream Ichabod.

_"I will fight for us, I swear it."_

The rest of the conversation passed by in a blur until he got to the pivotal question. The one on which their entire future turned.

"If Katrina and I agreed to dissolve our marriage, would you still insist we settle for dreams?"

_"I will fight for us, I swear it."_

_"I will fight for us, I swear it . . . "_

"No more dreams." She could barely hear herself say the words.

_It probably still won't happen,_ she told herself after he left the room. _He'll see Katrina and feel too guilty to do it. _A part of her shattered as she went back to her useless books. _Katrina loves him so much, and they have all that history._ She opened whatever the hell book it was - the one at the top of the stack.

Hours later she woke up from another dream of her and Ichabod to the sound of someone pounding at her door. She grumbled bitterly as she got dressed and went to answer the incessant knock.

When she flung open the door there stood Ichabod, breathless but happy.

Not long after she felt him beneath her, over her, inside her, _with_ her.

The moment she began to cum at his touch was the moment she let herself believe:

_Love can outrun the end of the world._


	6. Simon Says

**REALLY THOUGHT I'D HAVE THIS ONE UP SOONER, BUT HERE YOU GO. THANKS AGAIN FOR ALL THE LOVE!**

The whole team was glad when Spring arrived. Ichabod was pleased with his progress in snowball combat, but he was ready to see the stuff go away in favor of bright green grasses and fresh new blooms.

There had to be something lovely going on in their world. All three of them had dreamt of the same symbol for months, always delivered in the form of a scroll in the mouth of a giant crow. Ichabod having the eidetic memory, had drawn it over and over. Large, small, scrambling the seemingly random letters that encircled the core symbol, trying to discern some meaning. All to no avail.

Until the day he took his file of sketches to the park hoping just the act of leaving the archives room might help him shed the stress and see with fresh eyes.

Abbie answered her phone hoping to hear Crane say something along the lines of "I've got it!"

She did not get her wish.

"Abbie!" He yelled, "Abbie, it's all going away, you have to find me, I can't hold onto it!"

"Ichabod?!" She put the phone on speaker so Jenny and Irving could hear. There were no outdoors-y sounds like the voices of other people, but his voice carried loud and hollow, like he was in a bathroom or some other totally empty contained space.

"Malphas!" he choked, panicked and tearful. "With - " he bellowed as though wracked with pain, "with a P-H. He steals . . . he steals . . . "

The line went dead.

Not long after the call Jenny was scoping out nearby abandoned buildings when Abbie and Irving found his cell phone and sketches in the trash can of the park's public restroom.

"At least there's no sign of a struggle," Irving said softly as he put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Abbie's shoulder. "The trash cans are upright, no blood. No reason to think he's not alive, Mills."

Tears slid down Abbie's rarely tear-stained face. "But that name he said? Malphas? Malphas could have him trapped anywhere! Even another . . . realm or something."

Irving gave her shoulders a familial squeeze, trying to walk the line between encouraging and dismissive. "Hell at this point, which of us hasn't escaped an evil demon?"

Abbie's watering eyes met his.

"Let's text Jenny and go read up on this _Malphas_ fucker."

Abbie spent the night in the archives room. And the next night. And the next night.

Jenny was the keenest eye among them, so she was their designated hunter. Out scouring the streets and buildings while Irving and Abbie dug up every reference they could find to 'Malphus,' or any possible bastardization thereof.

Abbie watched her phone like a hawk.

What they discovered about the demon was that he most often appeared as a giant crow - so there was one question answered. And Irving pointed out that even though they'd all dreamt of him, Ichabod was the one drawing the image - The Seal of Malphas ad-nauseum, perhaps making it easier for Malphas to take him.

At first all they could dig up about his powers was that he could see every person's past, present, and future, which made no sense. How would such a power be useful in bringing about the Apocalypse?

The answer came on day four.

Jenny was patrolling the town for the five thousandth time that day when there he was, casually strolling out of a Deli. She almost missed him because of the way he was dressed. Dark green khaki pants, long sleeved white shirt with a tan t shirt pulled over it. The only thing unchanged was the style of his hair. She kept eyes on him until she found a place to park and charged down the sidewalk after him.

"CRANE!" She yelled, almost caught up to him.

He didn't even turn to look at her.

"ICHABOD!"

This time he turned around just to see who was making all the racket.

"I'm sorry," he said when he realized she was addressing him. "You have me confused with someone else. My name is Simon West."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Stealthy Jenny woke up just in time. She squinted at him. "Oh, yeeeeaaaah," she laughed. "The nose is totally different. Other than that though, it's uncanny! Sorry for the mix up."

He shrugged. "It happens."

She leaned on a lamppost pretending to admire the beautiful day as she watched him walk another block down the street, get into a _car_, and drive away. While Ichabod had recently gotten a handle on driving, she knew he didn't own a car yet. Certainly not a vintage VW Bug.

Back at the archives room, Abbie answered her phone in record time.

"You're not gonna believe this," said Jenny.

Abbie's arms broke out in goosebumps. "Did you find him? Is he okay?!"

"Erm. . . yes and no." She got no response from Abbie's end, so she took a breath and went on. "I don't think Malphas just knows life histories, I think he can create them." Abbie started to ask a question but Jenny cut her off. "I'll explain later, he's already out of my sight and I can't afford to lose him!"

It didn't take long for Jenny to get eyes on 'Simon' again, but it was another two hours before she could engineer another chance meeting. She watched him pull into a motel parking lot and enter room 14, so she pulled around the side of the building and kept an eye on the room. Finally, he came out and headed for the ice machine.

She came around the corner and strolled along casually until she 'caught sight' of him. "Simon something, right?" She chirped, pointing her car keys at him.

"Ah," he smiled. "You're staying here too?"

She shrugged. "Small world, right? Have you visited here before?"

"No."

She trotted alongside him as he walked toward the ice machine.

"Just passing through on my way home."

"Oh! Well I can show you around if you want. I grew up around here, so . . . "

He shoveled ice into his bucket and chuckled. "Where were you three days ago? I have to be headed up the coast tomorrow, but thank you for the offer." He half-bowed. "Very kind."

She smiled politely and pretended to be on her way as he walked in the opposite direction. "Hey!" She called out. He stopped and turned to her. "Can I ask you a favor? I have this suitcase that weighs a ton cuz I tried to pack my whole life into it, would you mind helping me get it out of the car? It's on wheels so I've totally got it from there, but getting it out -"

"Just let me drop off my ice," he replied.

Less than an hour later Abbie and Irving found themselves gaping down at Ichabod, curled up and unconscious in Jenny's trunk.

It was not how Abbie imagined their reunion.

By the time he came to he was bound to a chair in the archives room. Naturally, he was angry and terrified.

"Who the hell are you?" he bellowed, glaring at Jenny. "All of you?" His panicked eyes shot around the strange room.

Abbie wasn't ready to speak yet. He was right there, right in front of her, and yet still missing.

"You're not who you think you are, Crane," Irving explained (again) as gently as possible.

Ichabod took a deep breath and repeated the same mantra he had for the last fifteen minutes. "My name is Simon West, I live in Maine, I work for the Department of Fish and Wildlife and mostly help to preserve endangered species!" He yanked fruitlessly at his bindings before going on. "Look in my wallet!" He insisted. "There's my driver's license, my ATM card, a photograph of my niece -"

His wallet did indeed contain all those items.

Jenny stepped close to Abbie and whispered in her ear. "Malphus didn't just brainwash him, Abbie. He manifested a whole person."

"Let me go!" Simon West demanded. "I am _not_ who you think I am, the name Ichabod Crane means nothing to me!" He continued to tug at his bindings. "This is absolute nonsense!"

Jenny placed her hand on Abbie's back. "You're closest to him," she whispered. "If anyone's gonna cut through whatever Malphus did to him, it's you."

Abbie closed her eyes and nodded. She listened to Irving and Jenny quietly remove themselves from the room while 'Simon' continued to plead for answers. Once they were alone she opened her eyes and took in the sight. Her lover the total stranger, tied to a chair. She approached him slowly, trying to catch and hold eye contact. He resisted her efforts, but she kept at it.

"You trust me right?" She asked as she crouched in front of him.

He frowned as if trying to make a tangled ball of yarn straighten out using only the power of his mind. "I . . . why do I trust you?"

Abbie grinned. "Great! Progress! You believe I'm not nuts!"

"Oh no," he shook his head. "You're entirely bonkers, which further begs the question _why do I trust you?"_

Abbie chewed her lip. _There's no way to explain it and sound sane. Just jump in._

"Because you have since the minute we met - and I don't mean twenty minutes ago when you woke up, I mean since a year-ish ago when . . . " _no seriously, it will NEVER sound sane._ "When you were brought forward in time from the seventeen hundreds to be my partner in fighting the Apocalypse."

He gaped.

And blinked.

Then just for something new and different, he sputtered a bit.

She nudged her body a bit closer to him. "You still trust me. Don't you?"

"You've drugged me!" he insisted. "It's the only possible answer."

"We've been through a hell of a lot together, Crane. You've gotta remember something!"

"My name is Simon West!"

"You're Ichabod Crane, and I am Abbie Mills!" She yelled. "Simon _dig_! Please dig! Try to remember!"

He grit his teeth. "There is nothing to remember! I have no idea why I'm not terrified of you, or why I . . . why I _want_ to believe you, but I know there is a reason and it's sure as hell not the Apocalypse!"

She wracked her brain to think of what to say. "You trust me because you love me."

"Oh, is that it? Well then we've had quite the whirlwind romance!" he struggled harder. "It seems like only yesterday I was being knocked unconscious and thrown in the trunk of a car!"

She smiled. "At least you're still a smartass."

They regarded one another silently for a moment. He stared at her, and Abbie could see him beginning to question himself. To remember what they had, if nothing else. He blinked rapidly as if dust had flown in his eye, and for a split second Abbie thought she saw real recognition.

"Did you remember something? Feel something?"

"I _feel_ tied to a chair!"

She reached out and gently caressed his knees. "What else?"

He frowned and shook his head, determined to cling to reality regardless of what his gut was telling him. "Nothing!" He growled viciously "I want to go home!"

Her face contorted with grief and fear at his words, and it struck him like an icepick to the chest. He felt certain he'd do anything to take her pain away.

_You're feeling bad for the deranged woman holding you hostage? _He berated himself. _Stop it! _"I'm sorry." He didn't we've realize he'd said the words until they were out of his mouth.

A look of hope came into her eyes. "Ichabod?"

"No!" He insisted. "No! I'm - I -" a lightning quick image flashed through his mind of being in a cabin with this woman, but it was gone before he could register any more details. "My name is Simmm -" the rest of his declaration drowned when she reared up on her knees and pulled him into a kiss, her hands gripping his face as if it might try to escape. He tensed up immediately. Tried to pull away. But then she sighed against his mouth and somewhere between the sound and the feel of her, he got lost. His interest in rational thought vanished behind a thick fog.

_What did she say her name was again? Abbie Mills?"_

"Remember please," she whispered. "Please try." She felt encouraged by how quickly he'd accepted her advance. _He's in there,_ she thought frantically, _I know it, I can get him back!_

He moaned as her tongue slid against his, warm and familiar.

Another image flashed through his mind. The two of them peeling out of wet clothes not two feet from where he sat.

"Did we -" his words were muffled until Abbie realized he was trying to say something and pulled back. He breathed heavily for a moment, stunned by the absurd question he was about to let himself ask. "Have we ever been . . . _together_ in this room?"

Abbie shivered with the effort of not getting her hopes up. "What do you remember?"

"Wet clothes," he brushed his lips against her neck. "Getting out of them."

She saw the look in his eye again. The one that meant he was half-remembering something.

"Yes," she nodded. "That happened." She watched Simon struggle to make sense of his world while little hints of Ichabod flickered through him.

Despite the confusion, he strained forward to kiss her again, the urge for more growing stronger by the second. "Mmmmm," he moaned, "I want this Ichabod's memories, I don't care if he is a delusion!"

"Look around the room," Abbie muttered into his ear while she licked and nibbled.

He did as she asked. When his gaze fell upon the couch no specific image (memory?) struck him, but his body's reaction was not ambiguous. "The couch," he panted, "the couch is important."

Abbie smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. "Uh-huh."

"Unbind me!" He begged as he lapped at every part of her throat he could reach with his limited range of movement. "Please, _please_ I won't run, I promise!"

She pulled back and stroked his face. "What's your name?" she asked.

His eyes flooded with conflicted need. "I don't know," he mewled as his forehead fell to her chest. "I just know I won't be right until I touch you."

She hesitated a moment before pulling the Swiss Army knife out of her back pocket (there were still some things a smartphone couldn't do), cut him loose, and tossed the knife on the floor.

He brought his arms around her the second they were free and his hands roamed over her with such eagerness it was as though he'd never touched another person in his life. "This is the oddest thing that's ever happened to me," he muttered before crushing her into a needy kiss. The taste of her was so familiar, so vivid - but the life of Simon West was no less vivid. Even as he pressed lustfully into the arms of Abbie Mills. Even as his gut told him against all sense that there was indeed a man named Ichabod Crane locked somewhere inside him, nothing about the other life he remembered rang false.

He remembered taking care of Otto, his first rehab animal. An otter pup left orphaned and sick after a chemical spill. Simon spent two years getting the pup back to health and training him to live like an otter. When it became clear that Otto would never be strong enough to survive in the wild, Simon found him an aquarium known for providing their animals with large healthy habitats. Then he spent a month helping Otto adjust to the new environment and new handler. It was a stand out event in Simon's life history, and he recalled every detail.

And yet. Ichabod Crane.

_Tossing fish to Otto._

_Wielding an old gun on a battlefield._

_Tagging wolves in Yellowstone._

_Maps, symbols, books, scrolls._

_The busted pipe that flooded my kitchen._

_Abbie, Abbie, Abbie, Abbie._

_Something something wildlife something._

_Abbie, Abbie, Abbie . . . ._

He was so disoriented that he didn't realize his sudden lover was topless until his fingers curled around her bra strap. He tugged the strap down and wrapped his other arm around her waist trying to pull her into to his rocking hips.

"My legs," he rasped, "unbind my legs, please!" He was too hard to care that he didn't actually remember her in the usual sense. Or that she was ranting about the Apocalypse, or that she thought he was 200 years old. Everything about his current situation made it perfectly clear that he'd been drugged, hypnotized, or even poisoned. Hallucination. That was another possibility. All sorts of medical disasters can cause one to hallucinate. He gave less and less of a shit with every passing second. _If I come, then realize she really is just a (ridiculously beautiful) crazy person? I'll deal with it then. _A terrible idea, true, but his body had declared an embargo on all sensible thoughts.

She pulled both of his shirts off in one go, and slid to the ground between his legs. Rather than reaching for the knife to cut the binds around his ankles, she ran her hands up his thighs, gazing at him with a look of flirtation and hope. His head lolled back as she ghosted kisses above the waistline of his pants while she undid them. Once she had him free, she began to stroke him from the base up while her mouth engulfed him in the heat he'd been craving for the last several minutes.

"Ah!" He cried out, panting as he fisted a hand in her hair. "God, I thank the man who trained you!"

_I could swear I've heard him say that before! _Thought Abbie as she quickly cut the ties around his ankles and continued sucking and stroking him with precise attention to every move. They'd been together long enough that she how to read his reactions. He sighed and moaned as she took him deeper, increasing the pressure of her stroke with every inch she swallowed.

"Do I . . . " he struggled to speak, words darting about in his head as if trying to evade his lust-addled grasp. "Do I often cum in your mouth?"

Abbie had never really thought about it. "No, actually," she replied, finishing with a firm swipe of her tongue over the weeping head of his shaft. "This is usually a foreplay thing for us." She kissed at the inside of his thigh while stroking him slow and gentle.

"I thought so." He yanked the chair out from under him, sunk to his knees, and lavished her breasts with attention as he pushed down and removed her bra. Her every gasp and shudder made him feel like a damn hero - like he'd accomplished something of profound importance. _I'd do anything to pleasure Abbie Mills, _he thought as he let her push him to the ground and remove his pants. _I'd kill Simon West. _He watched her, unblinking as she shimmied out of her own pants.

"What do you remember?" She whispered, running her fingers through the length of her sex.

His erection strained toward her, longing to be surrounded in her. He was about to decry her cruelty for demanding he think at such a moment when suddenly a memory came to him. Not an image. A fully realized memory. A giant crow descending over him, filling his ears with a terrible screech as he felt his self-hood seep away, a new man's life planting itself firmly in the vacant space left behind. He could hear Abbie screaming at him through the phone. Then nothing.

His next memory was of channel surfing in his motel room hoping the Orca population had increased more this year than last year.

He still didn't remember much of being Ichabod Crane, but he did remember losing the man. He knew for certain that it happened. That he really was a witness. 200 years old. Irretrievably in love with the woman standing before him satisfying herself, and looking down at him like he was the greatest man on earth just for wanting her _so much._

"I lost myself!" he declared as he sat bolt upright, lunged for her hips, and pulled her to him in a straddle, touching every part of her he could reach before snaking a hand between them to trace circles over her clit. He delighted in her response, bucking into his hand with a pleasured cry. "Find me, Abbie - ooooooohhhhhhhh, perfect," he sighed when the natural motion of her hips had his fingers dipping into her at whatever pace she chose. "Find me. Find the rest of me . . . "

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and trailed her lips delicately up his neck before coming to hover over his mouth. "I will," she breathed as she slid sideways off his lap and laid down, guiding his body between her parted thighs.

He propped himself up on one hand to position himself at her entrance before surging forward, finally able to quell what seemed like ages of aching want. He felt her thighs quiver at his sides and watched her head fling back in a silent cry. He elicited a series of strangled noises with every forceful thrust. Normally he would temper his impact, but something told him this woman he only half-remembered falling in love with would respond enthusiastically to a touch of roughness. The instinct served him well.

He moaned when her walls began to tighten and shudder around him, her nails raking at his arms. _I have you close._ Naked pride overtook him. _I alone get to have you this way. _He allowed himself the arrogance without apology because he knew she owned him in exactly the same manner. A lascivious thought or to two (or ten) may cross a man's mind in regard to any 'stimulating' female, but no mere thought, no fleeting fantasy, would ever come within a mile - within the same orbit - as the experience of Abbie Mills cumming beneath his attentions.

Their mutual dedication to one another expressed itself a hundred ways. In sweat. In grasping. In tensing, shaking limbs. Every arch of her back and desperate cry, the clutch of his hands and the way he swelled inside her. All of it added up to an unspoken contract between them.

When he came, it struck in an inelegant display of mindless flailing. He plunged into her sex and surrendered himself, his whole soul at her mercy without reservation. Afterward he lay close to her, massaged the inside of her wet thigh, and did whatever else he could to help her cum while her own skilled hands did their work. The sight of her knowing fingers so in charge, so adept at their task, was enough to get him half hard again.

_At least let her cum first, Ichabod! _he scolded himself.

It took him a moment to realize he'd just thought of himself as 'Ichabod.'

He listened to Abbie cum while wave after wave of memory washed over him. He placed gentle kisses over her abdomen and belly while she settled, falling back to coherency. When she was fully returned, he rallied enough strength to prop himself up and kiss her.

"I am returned, Abbie Mills." he grinned. "I had every faith you'd find me."

The soft smile of afterglow shone on her face. "Really? Because you didn't sound too confident screaming into the phone a few days ago."

He cuddled her close and she rested her head on his chest. "I was confident. It's just the sight of a giant crow causes one to panic, that's all."

"Mmmmm," she kissed and nuzzled at his chest. "So Simon West has left the building?"

Ichabod frowned. "Oddly, no. I still remember most of my - _his_ life. I wonder how much of it Malphus actually manifested?"

Abbie gave him a look.

He shrugged. "Well clearly the intention was for me to cease my role as witness. It would be the next best thing to killing me." He squeezed Abbie close, hoping she wouldn't mistake his interest in Simon for _disinterest_ in Ichabod. "I recall Simon's best mate Maxwell was to marry a woman named Penny next month. And for two years at the start of my career I took care of a rescue otter to whom I grew quite attached."

Abbie's 'look' didn't go away.

He shrugged. "I just wonder. That's all."

Abbie decided to roll with it. At least her Ichabod Crane was back. Even if another dude was riding shotgun.

She kissed his chest. "Did you name the otter?"

"Oh yes." He stroked his hand up and down the curve of her spine. "Otto."

"Seriously?"

Ichabod chuckled. "Yes, Simon wasn't the most creative when it came to names."

Abbie found herself strangely enjoying the bizarre conversation. "And what would Ichabod Crane have named the little guy?"

"Probably Otto."

Abbie laughed hysterically. Even though it wasn't all that funny, it was the first hint of comedy she'd enjoyed in days. _Otto the Otter. It's like a kid's book. _She laughed so hard and so long, Ichabod joined her. It was like a riptide.

"Okay -" Abbie panted, wiping tears away from her eyes. "Okay. Sweetheart, if we ever have a kid _I am naming it!"_ She insisted. "I'm not gonna have a kid named _Kid!"_

That comment sparked off a whole new wave of laughter.

"Hm," Abbie mused after they calmed down. "I see we have something happening there."

He followed her gaze to his half-hardness. "Ugh," he waved dismissively. "Ignore that." He looked down at the thing. "Undisciplined scoundrel. They're like any other pest." He assured her. "Ignore them long enough and they go away."

"Yeah, but . . . " she flicked her tongue over his nipple before continuing down his chest, speaking in between kisses and light nibbles at his sides. "I've had to be _me_ the last four days." She sighed against the angle of his hipbone, causing his shaft to twitch despite the determination to let her enjoy the afterglow. "I've had to miss you, Crane." She bypassed his growing length in favor of sweeping her tongue up the inside of his upper thigh, landing at the space just below his navel. "You had it easy," she purred, her breath growing shallow. "I had to miss you this whole time."

Her hot breath played over him as she spoke, and it took his erection from 'partial pest" to 'where is Abbie?'

His eyes snapped shut and he clawed at the floor beneath him when her delicious mouth took him in, sucking just hard enough to keep him straining for more as he bucked and gasped.

He whimpered when she withdrew her mouth, then shivered in delight a second later when she brought her legs to either side of him, braced her hands on his chest, and sunk down so agonizingly slow it made his spine rattle. He groaned, using all his discipline to enjoy her for a while rather than embarrass himself like a lad experiencing the thrall of a woman's talents for the first time.

"So sorry," he said through the haze. "Must have . . . have been - ooooooohhhhh, oh, you're wonderful . . . "

She slowed the roll of her hips to something almost lazy and held his hand against her face, cradling it there like a security blanket. "It was hell," she whispered, kissing the pad of his thumb. "Get hard a hundred times if you want," she picked up her pace, and her voice went ragged. "I could take you all day."

He reared up and kissed her ferociously as she rode him to his finish. When they fell back to the floor, it was his turn to bask in afterglow. She lay on her side next to him, and he traced his fingers along the proud, distinct curves of her silhouette.

She squirmed happily and kissed his chest. "Welcome home, Ichabod Crane."

He smiled and peppered her face with tiny kisses, ending at her mouth. "I am pleased to be back, Abbie Mills."


	7. Identity Crisis

**the SMUT takes a minute to show up on this chapter, but it does show up, and more than once. Not sure when I'll get the next chapter out but when I do it'll probably be a little longer, and twice as smutty. You'll probably understand why after you read this one. And thanks again everyone for the Review Love :-) the first chapter of this series was the first fanfic I ever wrote, much less posted, and I had no plans to continue the story. But you lovely people talked me into it! Okay. On with the show:**

All four of them thought it as odd. Ichabod had broken through Malphus's illusion, but his memory of basically every moment of Simon's life was sticking around. At first they figured it would wear off. No. Three days back to what counted for normal in their little army, and Simon was still as vivid as the day Ichabod first remembered himself.

The Apocalypse Posse_ (damn Jenny, they'd all fallen into the trap of her terrible moniker!)_ was congregated at the cabin discussing the issue.

"A three day gap between your last memory as you and your first memory as Simon," mused Irving. "I mean we are all agreed that Malphus meant for you to leave town and start a whole new life, right? Why wouldn't he . . . I dunno _program_ Simon to wanna check out of Sleepy Hollow the same day he took you?"

Katrina raised her hand. "I have a theory."

They turned their attention to the witch.

"A demon may easily drive one mad or possess a body, but shoving aside an entire life of memories and creating others in their place? Perhaps whether or not you were aware of it," she glanced at Ichabod, "Simon took ahold bit by bit?" She could see the others didn't quite grasp her meaning. "Like . . . maybe if we'd found you the day you went missing it would have been far easier to make you remember your true identity." They all nodded, shrugged, and generally accepted the theory. They couldn't think of anything else that made a shred of sense, so why not?

Five days later they discovered it was actually much more complicated than Katrina's theory.

Abbie and Ichabod were walking out of their favorite pre-workday bagel place when a man waiting at a crosswalk across the street yelled at them.

"Simon?! Oh, you _ass!"_

Ichabod's eyes blew wide with panic. "Oh dear." He planted himself in front of Abbie and hurriedly informed her, "I'll explain later but that man yelling at me? He's going to run over as soon as the light turns, so I'm Simon and you and I met last week. Got it? Good." He spun around just in time to see the man dart across the crosswalk. "Maxwell," he held his arms out and looked apologetic. "I am so sorry, I - it slipped my -"

Abbie knew exactly who Maxwell was. Ichabod had told her several details of Simon's (presumed fabricated) life. His friendship with Maxwell loomed large in the narrative.

"Slipped your mind?" The man snapped. "Right. So you haven't thought to check your phone or email all week? Because . . . " he fished his phone from the breast pocket of his shirt and shoved it in Ichabod's face.

The first text was dated the day Ichabod disappeared.

_I hope you're headed up the coast now, I've got some news._

The next day:

_Did you get my text?_

Two days after that:

_Okay, seriously. You should have been home by now, and I really need to talk to you!_

Next day:

_It's not "say it in a text" kind of news Simon IT IS IN PERSON NEWS! AND I'M DOING THE 'ALL CAPS TO INDICATE ANGER' THING, WHICH YOU KNOW I HATE! THAT IS HOW PISSED I AM!_

Maxwell shoved the phone back in his pocket. "That was the night I decided to fly down here and . . . and look for you, dude! And if I couldn't find you? I was going to report your dumb ass missing!"

Ichabod opened his mouth to speak, but the tirade went on.

"The only reason you're not getting nut punched right now is I know you, and I know you wouldn't drop off the map like this unless you had a good reason. Sooooooo . . . " he took a deep breath and waited for 'Simon' to explain.

Ichabod shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Um . . . well I lost my cell phone, and it's not as if anyone memorizes phone numbers anymore and as for email, well I . . . I . . . "

"I think is a private conversation," Abbie interjected before turning to Ichabod. "I'll meet you at the park?"

"Of course," he replied, and the two kissed on instinct.

Maxwell was struck speechless. Rather than say anything, Abbie cast a sideways glance at Ichabod and slunk away, surrounded by a cloud of pure _uncomfortable_.

"Unreal," Maxwell shook his head. "The Universe is hilarious. I break off my engagement and you meet 'the one.' What're the odds?"

"You ended things with Penny?!" Ichabod shouted.

"You met the one!" Maxwell shouted even louder.

"Pfft!" Ichabod put on an affected incredulity. "One tiny kiss does not a True Love make - though I am obviously interested in pursuing -"

"Nah-uh. No way. You're a total prude about dating. You spent what, four months pining for Beth Zimmer before _she_ asked you out? Then two freakin' months later she had to practically drill her way into your pants!"

Ichabod sputtered for a response.

"So if you're already kissing that woman? Yeah, she's in a whole different stratosphere. Love at first sight. I'm calling it."

It was on the tip of Ichabod's tongue to refute the claim when it hit him.

_What are you thinking, you fool? So long out of touch with a dear friend? An extra week away from home? Love-struck idiocy is the perfect explanation! It clears up everything!_

He folded his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. "We, um . . . well, nothing has been spoken aloud at this point, but I suspect it's only because neither of us wishes to seem . . . . insane." He shrugged. "I've been in rather a delirious haze all week, Max. And I did indeed lose my cell phone. But still, it should have occurred to me to email you. I've been an appalling friend, and I apologize."

Max grumbled. "Dammit! When you get all formal and sincere like that I feel like a dick if I stay mad!"

Ichabod smiled. In keeping with his perfect memory of Simon's life, he had missed Max's company. But he'd assumed Max was a figment. Nothing but a creation of Malphus.

"So you ended things with Penny? That's quite a shock."

"No it isn't."

"Nooooo," Simon replied. "The two of you were horrendous together."

Ichabod/Simon knew he had to get to the archives room ASAP and explain what he was now certain Malphus had actually done. He was trying to scrounge up a way to extricate himself from Max without further insulting the man when Max took care of it for him.

"Hey, I don't suppose you already got a replacement phone?"

"YES!" Ichabod cried a little too enthusiastically. "Ahem. Just yesterday in fact. Call me and I'll save you."

They made the exchange.

"Now," Ichabod sighed. "Would you be horribly offended if I ditch you in favor of Abbie? I promise we'll meet up for drinks later but she and I have this routine -"

"Ugh," Max rolled his eyes. "They have a _routine."_ He waved his hand as if to brush off the possible breach of friend etiquette. "It's fine. I'll see you sometime tonight though, right?"

Ichabod smiled with relief. "Beers aplenty. On me."

The two said their goodbyes and Ichabod strolled casually until Max was out of sight, then ran to the archives room as fast as his spider-long legs could carry him.

"Check police records for John Does turning up dead anywhere near here around the time I disappeared," he demanded when he arrived, struggling for air. He could tell by Jenny and Irving's faces that Abbie had told them of the _Max incident_. "I think . . . I think I'll know . . . " he waited until he caught his breath to continue. "I think I'll know the real Simon West when I see him."

Irving was already logging into the police database.

Jenny frowned and sidled up closer to Ichabod. "You wanna explain a little more?"

"Remember what Katrina said about the intricacies if creating a false life?" He asked rhetorically. "I don't think Malphus created Simon's life at all. He stole it and gave it to me. The only 'magic' otherwise involved was changing Simon's appearance in the memories of those who knew him!"

Abbie frowned. "Wait, so -"

"None of their memories of Simon were erased or even _altered_, they simply remember him as looking like me, and that's why I've not been able to shake him from my mind. He is not a mere fictional construct, but a real person!"

Irving stared at Ichabod in wonder. "Wow. So you basically are Simon? You're two guys in one body?"

Ichabod shrugged.

Irving took in the information. "And just that fast my life goes from horror movie to sitcom," he sighed and spun his laptop to face Ichabod. "There's just this one guy."

Ichabod immediately knew the man. Dirty blonde hair, distinctive nose, thin lips, average build. "That's me, uh, him. Simon West. I assume you run fingerprints through a database In John Doe cases, yes?"

"Yeah," Abbie and Irving replied in tandem.

Ichabod drew a deep, somber beneath. "Malphus must have separated even fingerprints from his identity as well as his face." He frowned and touched the screen. "I am all that's left of him." Every thought of using magic to remove Simon from his mind (Katrina had offered to try) went away. It would be tantamount to suicide.

Ichabod did meet up with Max that evening for drinks. Many drinks. He stepped fully into Simon's 'skin' for the first time since retrieving his true memories - or rather, Ichabod's memories as Simon's memories were every bit as real even if they did rightfully belong to someone else's body.

He'd thought the transition would feel awkward. Like putting on a front. But that feeling lasted less than five minutes before Ichabod and Simon stood in perfect equilibrium. Yes, he had to make up a few false narratives to cover Simon's activities (in particular his relationship with Abbie), but aside from that the two men seemed to coexist harmoniously, even partially melded, in his mind.

In short, he felt no less like himself when Max spoke to or treated him like Simon.

He and Max spent hour after hour chattering away.

"I tried," Ichabod/Simon chuckled, a pleasant buzz coating his brain. "I tried to tell you when the two of you first started dating remember? When you first started dating, aaaaaaannnnnd you got all pissy at me, so I dropped it."

"Well maybe if you'd tried harder I wouldn't have wasted six years of my life," Max accused facetiously. "I hereby blame you, jacka - OH!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Hottest woman ever at your six o'clock."

Ichabod turned on his barstool and nearly fell over.

Katrina.

_What are the odds?_

"Katrina!" He called out with a wave a split second before realizing it was a stupid move.

"One week here and you know all the hot women in Sleepy Hollow?" Max deadpanned. "I want your life, Simon."

Ichabod leapt off the barstool and darted to meet Katrina midway to their table. He kissed her on the cheek and subtly whispered in her ear. "Simon is real. This man's his friend. I'll explain the rest later, just go with it."

Confusion flashed across Katrina's face momentarily before she nodded and took it in stride.

_The advantage of absolute trust,_ thought Ichabod as he guided her toward their table.

"Katrina, this is my dear friend Max, Max this is Katrina."

Katrina extended her hand. "Max! Lovely to meet you Simon has mentioned you several times!" (Not a lie.)

Max grinned at her in the manner of a semi-buzzed single man. "Hey, you're both British!"

Katrina echoed his laugh and elbowed Ichabod in the side. "Yes, it's why we became such fast friends, I think." She chuckled. "Hard to meet a fellow Brit here in Sleepy Hollow. Ichab - Simon, could you pull over a stool for me?" She shoulder bumped him playfully.

Ichabod was a bit thrown off. He'd expected Katrina to engage in light conversation for a quick minute and then scuttle away. Still, he did as she requested. He located a spare stool, but pretended the leg was snagged on something in order to solicit Katrina's help.

"What the hell are you doing?" he rasped as they both crouched under the table to investigate the false mystery.

"Flirting, you idiot." She grinned. "He's pretty."

Ichabod excused himself not long thereafter, but before that he somehow let the beer buzz overtake him enough to invite Max to stay with him for a few days in the cabin he'd 'rented.'

Max happily accepted the offer.

It wasn't long after that Ichabod excused himself and took a cab home. Katrina and Max, meanwhile, talked and flirted until closing time. Then they walked around town and talked some more.

Early the next week Ichabod came home to the cabin to the sight of Abbie pacing back and forth.

"Abbie?" The utterance of her name contained many different questions.

"Are you gonna turn completely into Simon?" She asked, tears welling up in her eyes. "Because all the time you spend with _Max,"_ she realized she'd his the name angrily - "and I really do like Max," she added quickly. "But he's staying here, Crane. And whenever I'm around him I have to pretend you're this whole other person and we have a whole different . . . " she was too upset to continue.

A great shame welled up in Ichabod's chest that he hadn't considered Abbie's adjustment merely because it had been so easy for him. Her chin warbled in a way that made his heart shatter.

"Am I gonna lose you?" Her voice cracked in stark contrast to her usual stoicism.

"No," Ichabod murmured as he approached Abbie and cradled her face in his hands, his fingers tracing tiny circles over her soft skin. "Not once have I even considered it. Perhaps if Simon had been in love with someone too the situation would be a great deal more complicated, but . . ."

Abbie was only somewhat soothed.

Ichabod continued. "It's difficult to explain. Simon and a I are . . ." He struggled for the right words. "In some ways distinct, and in others - many others - very much _joined." _He tilted her head back and nuzzled her nose. "For instance, remember when you remarked the other day how I suddenly love eggplant when I used to hate it?"

"Yeah," Abbie replied with a frown.

Ichabod shrugged. "Well it's Simon's favorite food on earth, so it is now quality we share."

Abbie raised a dubious eyebrow. "Did you just compare _our love_ to a vegetable?"

_Have I made things worse? _He worried.

Abbie's lips twitched into a half-smile and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Perhaps a more appropriate example would be the day you found me. When I was completely buried beneath Simon's life. He had no idea why he trusted and outright desired a woman who seemed so utterly deranged, but he did. Before he - we - I -" again he struggled for the right language. "Even before your advances made me remember Ichabod Crane, _Simon's_ feelings were affected by mine." He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue tracing lightly between her lips.

_Please let me in . . ._

Abbie's hands moved tentatively to his sides.

"Abbie," he whispered, "I love you." He kissed her again, this time meeting more pliant lips. "Please tell me this will not ruin us." When she stood up on tip-toe and wrapped her arms around his neck he knew her worries were - at least for the most part - calmed.

It had not escaped his notice that she'd been quieter, and physically distant with him the last few days. Nor that their lovemaking had been a bit . . . mundane. Ichabod decided to test the waters and see if his assurances brought things back to normal.

This time when he kissed her he ran his hands down to the small of her back and pulled her against him with unambiguous intent. "In case further assurance is needed," he whispered with a glint in his eye.

She smiled. "I could use a little more assurance." She leapt up to wrap her legs around his waist and kissed him more passionately than she had in days.

He returned the sentiment in spades, stumbling toward the far wall as he reveled in the feel and taste of her enthusiastic tongue.

_There's my Abbie._

She started to unbutton his shirt when her back hit the wall.

The mood went from passionate to downright frantic. Ichabod felt as though he hadn't truly had her this way for days. The relief alone got him hard in seconds, the feel of her warm inviting thighs further inflaming his lust.

"God, I've needed you like this, Abbie." he mumbled into the crook of her neck as she pushed his almost completely unbuttoned shirt down this shoulders. Ichabod said a silent thank you to the unusually hot spring day, as it had inspired Abbie to wear a sundress - a rather uncommon choice for her. The garment granted him instant access to her sex.

"Ah!" she cried out when he slid his hand beneath her panties and pressed firm against her clit. She rolled her hips into the contact as he moved further down, finally sinking a finger into her impatient core.

Ichabod moaned as he thrust forward and attacked her mouth at the same time. He could tell by the shiver around his fingers the moment he slipped inside that she'd missed their normalcy as well. Though this wasn't _exactly_ normalcy. It normally took a while before his erection strained against his pants hard enough to hurt, but this time the desperate need to break free was already distracting.

She took his lower lip between her teeth and nipped playfully, tongue darting forward to meet his as she tangled her fingers in his hair to steer him whichever way she pleased.

_My decisive woman. Eager again._

She pushed his chest back just far enough to get her hand between them and scoot down the wall a bit. Ichabod used opportunity tear a dress strap off her shoulder with urgency.

He sucked in a delighted gasp when her hand pressed against his pants and massaged the aching shaft restrained beneath the fabric. He despised his pants more every second. "Ooooooh yes, _please,"_ he begged almost pathetically as he angled his body so she could unzip his pants.

The second she had him free, she shimmied back up the wall. She grabbed the bunched up fabric of his half undone shirt and crushed her mouth against his, sighing as hard bare flesh slid against her obscenely wet panties.

Ichabod yanked his arms free of the shirt and left it dangling from his pants, too preoccupied with a flushed and writhing Abbie to fidget with it any further. He thrust his leg between her thighs and hiked her up the wall so he could work the straps of her sundress down far enough for her to slip out of them.

"Mmmmmm," he pressed against her in a deep, exploring kiss as he cupped her breasts and teased at hardened nipples.

_The damn panties have to come off! _He thought. A tricky move to manage without breaking the mood, but they'd had up-against-the-wall-sex often enough to develop a method. He let go of her and fell to his knees. The dress was snug enough at the waist that it didn't fall to the floor, but Ichabod didn't care. The dress posed no impediment to his goal. The panties did. They were the enemy.

Abbie gripped his hair as he dragged the panties down and simultaneously plunged his warm tongue into her center. She rocked into the contact with a cry that Ichabod thought might be capable of shattering nearby glassware.

"Crane," she panted, "Crane -oh! Oh _shit!_ Ah!"

He grinned against her slick flesh and pushed her left leg up, tilting it outward just slightly. Just enough to kiss and nibble at her fleshy upper thigh while his thumb rubbed circles over her clit. His shaft twitched violently when her grip on his hair tightened and her breathing went as ragged as a marathon runner staggering over the finish line. Her hips bucked and bucked shamelessly.

When his fingers were thoroughly covered in her arousal he stood up, pulling her body along with him. By then every inch of his straining erection was _screaming_ to be inside her. To be surrounded in the shuddering silk of her as she came.

But just as he lifted a hand over her head, lacing her fingers with his, there came a thundering voice behind him.

"Holy fuck on a frog farm!"

_Max._

Abbie shrieked in horror and crossed her hands over her chest.

Ichabod's knee jerk reaction was to leap away from Abbie, but then he recovered the good sense to realize he should block Max's view of her mostly nude body while she got her dress re-situated.

"I am so sorry Max!" he insisted. "I - I thought you'd be out with Katrina for the day!"

His fondest wish as he zipped up and tugged his shirt back on was for the earth to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

_Well my skin does feel awfully hot, perhaps I'll catch ablaze. _He had a particular fear of death by fire but at the moment it seemed infinitely preferable to the current arrangement of circumstances.

Meanwhile, Max kept his eyes focused on the ceiling. "Dude, I would just leave you two alone now, but . . . we gotta talk, Simon."

He and Abbie frowned at each other as Abbie smoothed out her dress.

"About what?" Ichabod asked, still embarrassed but incredibly glad for the ready-made change of subject.

"Abbie, are you dressed?"

"Yeah Max."

Max nodded and lowered his eyes to meet the two of them. "Okay," Max clasped his hands and started to pace. "So, I know you're not going to believe this - I can't believe I believe this - but you and me Simon, we're both under a - wait." he shook his head. "No. I gotta back up."

Ichabod and Abbie again exchanged a concerned look. Max noticed, but didn't comment.

"The way you feel about Abbie, and how it was just BOOM! Outta nowhere?" He snapped his fingers. "Well the exact same thing happened with me and Kat, even though I ended a six year relationship eight seconds ago. And it didn't even occur to me to think _hey that's weird_ until I saw what I saw - we'll get to that in a minute." He clenched his hands into tight fists. "The other night I was watching Kat sleep, and I start thinking _maybe I should break the lease on my apartment and move down here."_

Ichabod felt more like Simon than Ichabod by that point, and his face must have registered obvious surprise, because Max responded to the unspoken statement.

"Right!" He indicated himself with both thumbs. "I'm the guy who waited five years to propose to my girlfriend, and now after a week I'm diving in head first?!"

Simon spoke up. "You really have such strong feelings for -"

Max stopped pacing flung his arms out. "Simon, I have stopped just short of picking out baby names!" He paused for a beat, unable to lie to his best friend. "No I haven't. Weston and Isabelle."

Simon was genuinely touched, and momentarily forgot about the more bizarre topic of conversation. "Weston in honor _my_ last name?"

Abbie, feeling like a fly on the wall, cleared her throat. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk if that's okay with everyone?" She cast her eyes to Ichabod.

"Of course dearest," he kissed her cheek and she went on her way.

Max held the door open and nodded politely as Abbie made her exit.

"Yes. Weston after you," he shrugged when the door closed behind him. "Everyone in _my_ family is a big bag of festering assholes so I want nothing to do with their names. And Isabelle is the name of Kat's favorite Aunt."

Ichabod registered the information with surprise. _I didn't know that. _

The details of Max and Katrina's immediate, seemingly genuine bond did strike him as incredibly strange. He hadn't realized they were anything more than a casual dalliance. A rebound woman on Max's part and a brief escape from dark realities via sex on Katrina's.

Then it hit him. What Max was getting at. "You think the two are connected? Your sudden relationship and mine? How?"

Max pursed his lips and let out a kind of frustrated grunt. "Okay. Um . . . here's the part where I'm crazy, but I'm hoping our friendship means you'll . . ." He took a step toward his best friend and swallowed. "I don't even wanna tell you this, it's _so_ nuts. Are you ready?" Max asked.

Simon/Ichabod nodded.

"I'm pretty sure it happened so fast because . . . " he groaned again. "Katrina's some kind of witch or something, man, and we're under some spell, or illusion, or -"

Ichabod/Simon's heart dropped to his feet and stayed there as if weighted down by an anvil.

"Hear me out!"

He responded with a rigid nod. He figured Max would interpret it as shock upon hearing such an insane story. "Con . . . _tinue."_

Max squared his shoulders and tried to brace himself for Simon's total dismissal and subsequent call to the local Nut Farm. "I was gonna surprise Kat with takeout from DiVinti's and a romantic picnic in the park. So I picked up the takeout and headed for home - see? _HOME! _AndI can't stop thinking shit like that!" He huffed. "Anyway, I knock on the door, nothing. Knock a little louder, still nothing. Then I hear her voice chanting in who knows what language, but her voice sounded weird. It was deeper and . . . almost echoey. I dunno why it made me feel so damn nervous, but I ran in, and . . ."

Ichabod/Simon's stomach twisted into knots as his heart sunk even further. Into the floorboards.

"I swear, _I swear to God, Simon, _she was hovering a good three feet off the ground. And there was . . . like . . . an electric orb-type thing around her body." He drew a deep and worried breath. "She was totally out of it, had no idea I was there. So I turned and ran like hell. Dropped the takeout on the floor too, so she's probably figured out I was there." He sighed. "I've been driving around for the last hour trying to decide whether or not to tell you."

Neither Ichabod nor Simon had a clue how to respond to the situation. Both stood mute in their shared mind.

Max's face fell. "Buddy," he warbled. "You gotta believe me. I think this is only happening to us because . . . because Kat cast a spell. Maybe Abbie too, now that I think of it. Maybe they're both witches. Or some other kind of . . . " his voice trailed off, desperate eyes fixed on Simon, begging him for trust.

Before Simon could respond, Katrina burst through the door. "Icha - oh! Max! Max. Please don't be afraid of me, I love you!"

Having already lost his stomach and heart, Ichabod prayed his eyes didn't pop out of his head with shock. Instead he focused on his friend. "You are _somewhat_ right, dear Maxwell."

Max gave Simon a look for which there is no single word. Confused baffled semi-fear. "Excuse me?" he asked. "Sorry, I said that wrong. I meant _excuse me?!"_

Ichabod sighed. "If you could please have a seat, we'll explain everything." He shrugged in Katrina's general direction. "Seems only sensible. Malphus fused me to Simon, you and Max's sudden bond must somehow be part of a plan for divine retaliation."

Max froze in place and blinked, gaze darting between his love and his best friend trying to work out who to be most afraid of.

Forty five minutes later the quartet was sitting around the table. Abbie, Ichabod, and Katrina patiently waiting for Max to fully process everything - or at least begin to process.

Max pointed to the laptop screen at the photo of the dead man. "So that was Simon."

"Correct," replied Ichabod.

"Now you're Simon." he pointed at Ichabod.

"Also correct."

"But you're still the _you_ that you were before Simon crashed the party?"

He made a seated bow. "Ichabod Crane. One time soldier in the Revolutionary War, I was also enlisted into a secret battle against the forces of evil."

"Mh-hm." Max folded his hands on the table. "And most of our Founding Fathers were in the loop on this battle?"

"Seems like," Abbie replied with a chuckle. "Wait til Ichabod starts to tell you stories."

_"Ichabod,"_ Max looked at Simon and shook his head. "Man it's gonna take me a while to . . . " he trailed off and diverted his attention to Katrina. "And you're also from two hundred years ago, and a witch? I was right about that?"

Katrina put her hands over his and delicately threaded their fingers together. "Yes Dearest." She smiled. "And I agree with Icha - _Simon,_ if that helps - I agree with him. You are supposed to be here, and you are supposed to love me." She gently kissed and rested her chin on their joined hands. "As I love you."

Max smiled at her briefly, then once again diverted his attention. His attention had been flying rapidly from one person to another since the conversation began. "This isn't weird for you?" He asked Ichabod. "I mean, you two were married, right?"

Katrina and Ichabod shared an affectionate look.

"Body and soul," replied Ichabod. "But contrary to popular belief the ethereal fabric of one's soul is sometimes a mutable entity."

"And this new world made somewhat different people of us both," Katrina added. "Different enough to undo our marriage."

Another change of focus. Abbie. "You're also cool with this?" He indicated Katrina and Ichabod.

Abbie shrugged. "I've pretty much learned to roll with all kinds of weird. Perfect example: you - heeeeeey," her face lit up suddenly, and she elbowed Ichabod with a smile. "I just realized I don't have to lie my ass off whenever Max is around! No remembering not to call you Ichabod, our fake 'how we met story.'" She sighed happily. "Gotta say, for a day that involved a guy I barely know seeing me half naked, this is a pretty sweet day."

Max nodded as he slowly the laptop. "Thanks guys. I'm glad I'm not nuts, but I think that's as much as I can absorb for right now."

The four of them stood up and said their goodbyes.

"Sooooooo," Abbie mused once she and Ichabod were alone.

"So." Ichabod sat down in his chair and pulled Abbie into his lap. "That was . . . bracing."

A moment of comfortable silence passed between them before Ichabod's eyes darkened and he began to slowly nuzzle and kiss along Abbie's neck. "If I recall," he ran his tongue over her pulse point. "We were interrupted in the midst of _very_ urgent business."

She tilted her head to allow Ichabod more territory while also she doing her best to get his shirt untucked. "Mm-hm," she sighed. "Urgent."

He pushed the hem of her dress out of the way and looped his fingers through the elastic band of her panties.

"You're clothed," he murmured. "It's annoying."

Abbie was siting sideways in his lap, and felt a partial hardness against her leg. She gabbed his face and pulled him into a firm kiss. "Clothes are bullshit," she whispered against his mouth before she went on kissing him deeper and deeper.

He pulled her into a straddle and stood up in one quick move. They stood there kissing and mewling desperately for a minute, both eager to catch up to where they'd left off.

Her hips rocked against his, coaxing his partial arousal to full readiness.

He kicked the chair behind him out of the way as he lowered Abbie to the table.

She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips so Ichabod could dispose of the offending panties, then she lunged forward to unbutton his shirt. He finished the work of taking it off while Abbie took care of her dress.

"Ooooooh," Ichabod sighed as he gazed down at her breasts while running his hands up and down the silhouette of her body.

She got her legs around his waist and pulled him in close enough to get his pants undone and her hand around his rigid length.

"Ah!" he cried as she began to stroke him. He leaned forward, guided her body down to the table, and took over stroking himself. She mirrored his action, bucking into the work of her own skilled hands. Ichabod loved watching her do this. It spoke to him of her brazen, forthright nature. No half-measures for Abbie Mills.

_And I have her,_ he thought as his breath shallowed. _Her body. Her love. Her lust._

When the frantic need to be inside her became to much, Ichabod grabbed her wrists and slammed them down above her head. She took the hint and stayed in that pose while he pushed her knees up, making enough room for him to crawl onto the table and quickly settle between her legs.

She spread herself wide to greet him, and he wasted no time in meeting her expectation.

"Ah!" She cried again and again as he thrust relentlessly, their forced intermission having caused him too much frustration do anything else. Unless she asked him to do otherwise. He would restrain himself for Abbie if she wished.

"Abbie!" He shouted, his voice a shaking plea for more of her despite the fact he knew there was no more to give. The longing never stopped. "Abbie, Abbie, Abbie!"

She responded in kind, crying out and clutching his waist as her back arched off the table. Her knees drew up at his sides. "I love you," she panted. "I love you so much . . . "

He gripped her right thigh and pulled her leg up to his hip. "Who - shall - finish - you?" he asked with a deep groan, his eyes locked on hers. "You - or I?"

Without breaking their gaze she let go of his waist. He felt her hands slip between their bodies and stroke at her clit, oscillating her pace as needed. She never had any trouble brining herself to orgasm.

Ichabod gripped her thigh harder as the first a hints of her full release began to quiver around his shaft. Hardly a second later he assumed her fingers must have found the _perfect spot, _because suddenly her muscles clenched and shuddered wildly.

She took one hand off her clit and drove her nails into Ichabod's shoulder with unrestrained ferocity. It was exactly what he needed to keep from cumming that instant.

_She knows me so bloody well._

He sometimes came first whether by design or coincidence, but he preferred it the other way around. It was in his nature to treat his lover's pleasure as the primary concern - even to the extent that when Abbie went to her knees, she almost always did so unprompted.

An impossibly long, husky moan escaped her as she bucked into her own fingers and Ichabod's thrust, her lively sex like a riptide pulling him deeper and deeper inside.

"Crane," she rasped. "Oh! I, I'm - Crane I'm -" her head flew back. "Aaaaahhhhh!" With that final cry she rattled apart, her mind scattering in a million different directions while she came.

Ichabod soaked up every detail. The intoxicating feel of her slicked depths closing in, shuddering in intermittent waves. The look of her held so tight in the grip of graceless yet beautiful climax.

When her body went slack on the table he adjusted just enough to withdraw, and finished himself to the sight he loved so much. Her flushed, relaxed, satisfied body.

Afterwards, he cuddled next to her. She gave him a lazy grin and fumbled around for the sundress she knew was balled up somewhere on the table. She found it and used it to clean up her thighs a bit before settling against Ichabod's chest.

The two passed some time in a cozy, post-coital silence.

"Hm," Ichabod mused as he kissed Abbie's forehead and gave her shoulders a light squeeze. "Have we ever . . . _corrupted_ this table before? I can't remember."

Abbie laughed and grazed her fingers over his chest. "Me either."

They remained on the table until 'the fog' lifted enough for them to register that it was _a table,_ and thus not a comfortable resting surface. At which point they rose, dressed, and jokingly made a list of every place they hadn't yet 'corrupted.'

Oddly enough, the list did not get thrown out.


	8. Intolerable Seperation

**This chapter launches right into smut, and pretty much stays there. I apologize for making you poor readers slog through it all.**

**A MONTH AND A HALF AGO:**

"I find it odd that you're suddenly so adamant _you_ drive to the airfield after months of making sure I take the wheel at every possible opportunity." Ichabod said with a frown as he loaded his suitcase into the trunk.

Abbie didn't reply. Just winked and grined as she opened the driver's side door.

_Oh, you've thought up a whole new kind if trouble for us, haven't you?_ he thought, curiosity somewhat dulling the sadness of having to be separated for a whole month, barring demonic disaster.

"You're gonna be away for a whole month, sweetheart," said Abbie as they trundled down the long driveway. "So I'm damn well gonna get what I can while I can. And you're not good enough at driving to multi-task yet."

_I'm still confused. _He sifted through Simon's knowledge bank to see if her mysterious inference was one of those moments when he still didn't understand the modern era. Only one theory came to mind, and it made him squirm in his seat. His eyes wandered over Abbie in detective-like fashion, taking in everyday detail. Several things stood out to convince him Simon was right, and he was suddenly glad that the small airfield Max was flying them out of was a good 45 drive away.

"Dearest . . ." he began in an airy, casual tone. "Are those pants new?"

Abbie committed all of her discipline to not openly smiling. "That's classified."

She turned onto the narrow paved road at the end of his winding driveway.

Ichabod likewise directed his gaze straight ahead. "I only ask because most of the pants you own are quite a bit tighter. You're partial to snug pants. These," he reached over and gave gave the wispy fabric a gentle tug, "are not just loose, they may even be a few sizes too large."

"It's laundry day," Abbie shrugged. "I had to dig for something. Be glad I'm not in Mom Jeans."

Ichabod gave up the pretense of casual conversation. He reached out and stroked her neck with the back of his hand. "I believe you're lying, Miss Mills. You clearly have something devious in mind."

She turned down another road, and his excitement grew considerably. There were several possible routes to their destination, and she'd just taken the one that passed through a long stretch of basically nothing.

"Also, you have taken a backroad route. Far less traffic, and it would get us there a good fifteen minutes early unless we were to - hypothetically - stop someplace."

"Mm," Abbie remained casual. "We shouldn't need to stop. The tank is full and I don't think there are any cafés back here."

Ichabod drew his fingers around to the back of her neck, sweeping hair out of the way as needed. "Not exactly what I was getting at."

Abbie chuckled and tapped her hands on the steering wheel as though the radio were playing. "Well then quit being so damn vague. I can't read your mind Ichabod."

"No you can't, but I'm enjoying the guesswork."

_As far as foreplay goes this is rather unique,_ he thought with an inward smile. _I like it!_

"For one thing, I'm intensely curious what you're wearing under this . . ." He paused for a moment to hunt down the right words. "Cardigan wrap sweater." She didn't correct him, so he assumed the description was correct. "You have it folded and tied off rather snug. And the neckline . . ."

Abbie's efforts to maintain her poker face began to falter as Ichabod traced up and down the garment's high neckline.

"Gives me not the slightest hint of what's beneath." He drew and released a deep breath. "It all makes quite the delicious puzzle." He put up the armrest and scooted closer to her, his neck outstretched for a better view. "If I could just get the right angle, perhaps . . . "

She finally gave up the ghost and let herself show a smile.

A smile Ichabod knew well. It was her 'I planned this carefully and you will play along' smile. Despite her success at creating a certain mood, he refused to let himself become fully aroused. He didn't know how much longer it would be until the game _truly_ began, and saw no reason to torture himself.

Meanwhile Abbie had her own troubles. _You will hold out! _She insisted. Since she'd abandoned her effort not to smile, her body's new temptation was to pull into one of the many barely-visible dirt paths/former roads along the way and attack him immediately. _You're five minutes from the place, now HOLD OUT!_

It wasn't like she'd scouted for the spot, but six months back while she was on 'regular cop duty' she got assigned to investigate the site of a suspicious house fire. Abandoned double wide trailer out in the boonies. Burned to the ground along with a surrounding half acre. To get to the location from the main road you took a left at what had been a barely noticeable path before the firetruck and cop cars stomped it down, drove in a quarter of a mile, took another left and there is was. A scorched nook invisible from the main road. Coincidentally ideal.

_Hold out, hold out, hold out, it's not that far!_

Then Ichabod broke - a little. He figured if he took things slow he could keep them both entertained in the interim. _It can't be that long a wait, _he rationalized. _There's only so much distance between here and the airfield, and not all of it is backroad._

With his possibly unwise decision justified, he leaned over farther and whispered in her ear. "May I at least ask," he placed several light kisses in the general vicinity of her ear, "what you're wearing beneath the pants?"

Abbie said nothing.

"Come on," he whined, running his tongue over her earlobe, "tell me." He nuzzled, and made sure his breath played over her flesh in just the right way. "Is it the black lace panties with pale pink trim - pink is so unlike you with that one exception, don't you think? Is it _almost_ metallic gray? Or the white with that lovely black pattern running through it?"

Abbie used her head to bump his away and bit her lower lip playfully.

"I promise to behave if you tell me," he said with feigned sincerity.

"I just did."

"No you did not, you said absolutely noth-"

_Nothing_. Arousal declared a mutiny on his rational mind, and dangerous parts of his body began to perk up. _She's wearing no panties, and who knows what under that cardigan!_

Abbie didn't need to look at Ichabod to know where eyes had drifted, and knowing made hot anticipation coil up in her gut like a rebellious snake waiting to strike.

_Oh who the fuck cares!_ She took a hand off the steering wheel and started to undo her pants.

Ichabod sucked in a ragged breath. It was honestly bolder than he'd expected.

"Touch me," she ordered softly once she had herself positioned in a way that allowed him maximum access without compromising her ability to control the vehicle.

He pulled his seatbelt at far as it could go, and got close enough so that when he leaned forward and reached his right hand down, his body at a slight tilt, he easily made contact with her clit. His access was, by necessity, restricted to little else, but he was more than happy to work with what he could get.

He curled his fingers inward and rubbed in firm circles. He also discovered his long, slim fingers were of great benefit. Even with the restricted space and challenging angle, he could still slide his middle and index fingers into her core. Only a slightly, but between that and his work at her clit, she was gripping the steering wheel and holding her posture stiff as a board, resolute against the slight shiver of her shoulders.

"I. Am. Stupid!" she panted as three cars zipped by.

The great benefit of backroads aside from sparse traffic? One could usually count on higher speed limits, which meant barely a glimpse at passing drivers, should they happen to look. A couple could probably get away with going at it in the backseat while someone else drove, and it would be a while before any passing motorist noticed.

Ichabod ignored her self deprecation. Instead he pushed a finger as deep as inside her as possible, and enjoyed the feel of her rocking just slightly against the pressure of him.

By that time he was as hard as she was wet.

"How much longer?" he warbled.

"Two," she whispered, "two minutes tops." (She was actually going five miles over the limit, otherwise they'd be five minutes out.)

Ichabod sagged with relief when Abbie jerked the wheel and took them trundling off the main road.

Her pants were a indeed too large for her. A whole two sizes. They barely perched on her hips. Before they departed Abbie had prayed Ichabod would be too distracted with his impending road trip to notice. Otherwise her plan would lack the element of surprise. Luckily she got her wish. Being so loose, Abbie was able to have the pants pooled at her ankles in seconds. She yanked them off the rest of the way while Ichabod unzipped his pants hurriedly and withdrew an eager shaft.

He slid his seat as far back as it would go, grabbed her at the waist, and pulled her into a straddle.

Once she was settled in his lap she undid her cardigan without breaking eye contact.

"Oooooooh," he groaned when he saw what was beneath. Again, loose fitting. Plunging neckline. Sheer fabric so flimsy a feather could pierce it. "It cannot be said enough," he breathed as he ran his hands over her body. _"Phenomenal breasts."_ He dove forward to caress and kiss while she positioned herself to take him.

"Ah!" he cried as the warm line of her obviously ready sex brushed over the head of his suffering erection.

She moaned as she went on teasing over him and whispered, "I could cum right now."

"Not until I have you, you won't!" He growled as he gripped Abbie's hips and bucked upward, thrusting into her as she fell down, shifting slightly to accommodate more of his length.

She rode him at a brisk pace, loving the way he felt as he pulsed inside her.

Ichabod, meanwhile, dedicated himself to pleasuring every inch of her body he could reach. Neck, shoulders, breasts. And quick deep kisses whenever their respective positions allowed.

Abbie clutched his shoulders and leaned so her upper body tipped toward the dash, supported by his hand at her lower back, while her hips strained forward, her thighs splayed wide to allow him unfettered access to her clit.

A move he took advantage of immediately.

"Abbie!" He cried out as her body responded to the work of his dedicated fingers, her heat closing in around him with an intoxicating shudder that seemed to go on forever.

She cried out in response, her pace gradually becoming even more aggressive. "Keep going," she panted, "like that, Crane. just like that!" She spoke faster and faster as the landfall of orgasm barreled toward her body. "Don't stop, don't -aaaaaahhhhh! Oh! Keepgoing, keepgoing, keep - _fuck!_ There! There!"

When his every stroke and thrust elicited an orgasmic response, he knew she was beyond return, which was always his goal. He pulled her to him and buried his face in the crook of her neck, gasping and groaning as he felt it sweep her away. Her thigh muscles shivering, jaw clenched, her voice hissing the same words she was shouting so brilliantly moments ago. Not one to relent, he he went on flicking his finger over her clit to ensure her _moment_ lasted as long as possible.

They wouldn't be together again for a long time. Which meant despite being a quickie in a car seat, it had to be perfect. Neither of them would accept anything less.

Finally Abbie sagged against the dash, Ichabod still hard inside her. She rocked her hips just enough to keep a lusty half-smile on his face while she weighed her options. Watch him get himself off, or go down.

_He pretty much never asks for a blow job,_ she thought. Decision made.

She lifted herself off of him, and he waited patiently for whatever she might do next. With the seat pushed all the way back and her being so tiny, she had enough room to crouch comfortably between his legs.

"Look at me," he murmured, a finger under her chin to tilt her head up.

And there she was. Her large eyes shining up at him with absolute devotion. "You are such a gift," he whispered. "I could stare at you like this all day." He ran his thumb over her lips, and suddenly a new thought occurred to him. "Hm," he mused. "Do you know what I can't believe we've not gotten around to?" He reached for the small 'random stuff compartment' between the driver and passenger seats.

Abbie's pulse hitched. _Is he getting . . . ?_

His smartphone.

She rested her chin on his leg and chuckled. "You're right."

He turned the thing on and ran his fingers tenderly through her hair.

"This is my Abbie," he informed the camera. "She has many fine skills," he guided her to his surprisingly patient erection. "And this is a skill I enjoy -" he gasped as she took him, her warm tongue pressing against his sensitive flesh. "Oh, I enjoy _immensely_ . . ."

He went on gasping and panting, struggling to hold the camera steady as she stroked and sucked him at just the right pace. He seldom had to offer instruction, and the few times he did she responded without pause. "Look at her," he rasped.

Abbie was surprised how much it turned her on to hear her praises narrated to an inanimate object.

"The woman is . . . she loves me so beautifully," he paused, his breath growing shaky and rapid. "And her throat is . . . ooooooh, it's amazing. I c-c-cum for her w-without fail every - oh God, do that again! Ah, ah, _AH!"_ He grit his teeth, unable to narrate as he came.

A few minutes later they were back on the road, no evidence left of their adventure besides a flushed complexion.

"Remind me again why this trip is necessary?" Abbie asked when they turned onto a more populated road.

"I have a lot of friends in Maine," (Abbie was more or less used to him referring to himself as 'I' regardless of whether he was talking about Ichabod or Simon), "Max and I both do, and it would seem strange to them if we both suddenly uprooted and moved to Sleepy Hollow of all places without reason. My recent semi-disappearance worried them enough. So we're returning to lay groundwork to extricate ourselves more naturally. In such a way that we could still visit without facing a barrage of questions." He took her hand an gave it many affectionate kisses. "And even with this little illusion, one month will still strike them as quick, but it's better than nothing.

"So what's the story gonna be?"

Ichabod drew a deep breath and folded his hands in his lap. "I was on my way home to Maine when a Lawyer contacted me out of the blue to inform me that my childless, reclusive great aunt had passed away and left all her assets to me and my brother. And of course my brother Hugh - Hugh hasn't much awareness of extended family, which works out nicely - him being an Ocean away -"

"You had to take care of it all." Abbie finished with a sagging expression.

Since the day she and Ichabod met the longest they'd ever been apart was eight days. And that time they were both fighting to survive and rescue each other. Completely different from sitting around waiting idly for someone you love to come home. She wasn't looking forward to it.

Ichabod saw her descending mood and decided to keep her afloat by going on with the story. "Yes, I had to deal with of all her affairs and effects, and as it turned out she owned a cabin in Sleepy Hollow. Between sorting through the property and all the financial practicalities, I was simply overwhelmed. And that's why I 'fell off the map,' so to speak. Horribly rude if me. I apologize profusely."

Abbie nodded. "Good story. I'd buy it. I'd be annoyed, but I'd buy it."

"Mm-hm." Ichabod looked out the window as scenery zipped by at a speed that still sometimes amazed him. "Max and I will spend the next days conspicuously discussing whether or not I should sell the cabin. I'll start with how much I loved the property and the town, and met a nice girl," he gave her leg a squeeze. "You can't be the only reason I give for moving, but erasing you is not an option. If I'm to stay in both Ichabod's and Simon's lives to whatever extent, they must know of you." He gave her leg another affectionate squeeze and returned to the main narrative. "While I'm going on about the cabin, he'll start going on about the difficulty of his break-up. So many memories and reminders of him and Penny all over town, that sort of thing. Then I'll _decide!_" Ichabod said with flare and flourish. "I loved my visit, I have a cabin ready and waiting, there's no reason _not_ to move to Sleepy Hollow!"

"Let me guess," Abbie grinned. "And if Max wants to be wacky and spontaneous with you he's welcome to stay at the cabin while he looks for his own place."

Ichabod gave a smart nod. "Exactly."

"I think that covers your ass, but are they really gonna buy Max uprooting his life over one bad break up?"

"Maybe not over the break up specifically, but his natural spontaneity as well as our slightly co-dependent friendship will sell it."

"Wow," Abbie pursed her lips. "It was even _worse_ when you were just Simon?"

Ichabod chuckled. "One weekend a crew of us met up at a tavern for drinks and a few laughs, and we were a few rounds in when Allan and Emily announced their engagement. Our friend Tyler - the theatrical one - got up on the table, raised his glass and shouted: ''to Allan and Emily! The _second_ most adorable couple we know!' Then Max and I were pelted with a deluge of pretzels and beer nuts. Trust me," he chuckled. "No one will think it terribly odd. At worst we'll be the butt of a thousand jokes. Two thousand if we get Tyler ripping drunk."

_It's weird how much I enjoy hearing 'his' life stories._ Abbie thought as the single hangar and two runways came into view.

**TWO WEEKS AGO:**

"I'm actually hoping another horseman pops up," Abbie whined into the phone. "Or some kind of hell creature. At least then you'd have to come home."

"I promise this will be the only further delay. And of course the Apocalypse takes precedent. We're very much agreed on that, but Simon is literally the foremost expert in effective wildlife rescue and rehabilitation in the state."

Abbie sat down on the edge of their bed with a an annoyed huff. "But isn't the place already a rehab center?"

"For domestic animals," He explained. "They're expanding into wild animals. I won't bore you with details, but it's different. They want me to tour the facility, advise, train the staff on - it doesn't matter. The point is they want me."

"Yeah? Well _I_ wanted you first!"

Ichabod laid down and adjusted himself on the hotel mattress. Max was already back in Sleepy Hollow, all their stuff was being shipped down, and their friends had thrown them one hell of a going away party two nights earlier.

Illusion complete. But then his supervisor (in addition to setting him up with software to track their microchipped animals and record relevant information) just had to mention that the Gillman Animal Rehab Clinic was extremely interested in his help. Then he made it worse by explaining _why_ they wanted his help. He couldn't turn it down.

When he first accepted the offer he was eager as hell to get there and see what he was dealing with. What needed to be done. But as he listened to Abbie sigh into the phone he almost wished he had ignored the plight of sick wolves, injured deer, and all their needy little creature friends.

Abbie laid down on the bed, scowling resentfully at the empty space where Ichabod's body was supposed to be. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"And no offense to the world's wildlife, but I don't care if a sick _Unicorn_ shows up at that rehab place, you are coming home in two weeks! Understood?"

"I do adore your lack of ambiguity." His eyes fluttered shut. "And your smile . . . and your shape . . . and your softness."

Abbie made a wistful noise. _Stupid animals!_

"I keep rolling over at night to put my arm around you, Abbie, and you're not there. This morning I woke up snuggling one of the pillows. Very sad."

The sight of Ichabod's side of the bed was too depressing, so Abbie turned her attention to the ceiling. "Well tell the pillow I'm jealous," she chuckled. "And it better not get any ideas."

"You've nothing to worry out," Ichabod replied with a warm smile. "The pillow lacks your warmth. And it has yet to snuggle me like you do."

A moment of easy silence ticked by.

"Have my pillows tried anything?" He inquired, choosing banter over dwelling on the miles between them.

"Well," she grinned. "The one does keep trying to get between my legs. I think it's trying to take advantage of how much I miss you." She closed her eyes and relished the sound of his soft laughter. "I want you here, Crane. I wish you'd be an asshole sometimes instead of all . . . thoughtful." She grumbled the word like a petulant child. "Then you'd be next to me right now."

She waited for him to say something back, but heard nothing. "Crane?"

She could hear him breathing so she knew he was there. "Ichabod, are you okay?"

"Abbie," he mused in a midnight-dark tone. "Tell me what you'd do if I were home."

A happy tingle ran the length of her spine.

She considered the question carefully before answering. "I'm wearing . . . my police uniform."

He drew a surprised gasp. _This is new!_

"The first thing you ever saw me in, remember?"

"Vividly," he breathed. "I was so shocked and confused that many things about you escaped my notice -"

"Except that I'd obviously been emancipated," she grinned as the memory flashed through her mind.

Ichabod grinned as well, weirdly fond of the memory despite how distinctly un-pleasant it had been for him at the time. "Yes," he nodded. "Emancipated. Armed. Clearly respected by the sea of _men_ around you." He stopped himself from going further down the path of their history, even though there were so many romantic sentiments along its winding trail. They were not presently deprived of romance. It was physical connection they lacked. "So what happens in the now, Abbie?" he asked. "What happens if I'm there?"

"Mmmm. Let me think . . . you're laying in bed, wearing your pajama bottoms and no shirt, as usual." (Actually it was a habit he'd absorbed from Simon, but Abbie was so used to it, it seemed original to Ichabod.)

She continued. " . . . and I walk in the room. I stand there . . . stare at you while I unbutton my shirt. Slowly. To just below my bra. Then I stop."

Ichabod moaned.

"I push the shirt open enough for you to see what I've got on. It's one of your favorites," she smiled. "The black with white lace around the edges." She pushed up her plain grey undershirt, exposing her belly, and ghosted her fingers over her own bare flesh. "You don't say anything. You just stare back, throw the blankets away so I can see you, and rub yourself over the pants."

"Way ahead of you," Ichabod rasped as he grew beneath the warmth of his open palm. "Are you wet?"

"Getting there," Abbie replied. " . . .so I start to walk toward the bed, and unclip the badge from my belt. I normally keep it on top of the dresser, but this time I toss it on the floor. Same with my radio mic. Screw 'em both, I have more important things to do . . ." she mewled into the into the phone as her hand traveled south, her hips starting to writhe. "I really love watching you get hard, Crane. Watch you want me."

"Oooooohhhhh, my God," he sighed, barely audible.

_And I'm just getting started._ She thought, smiling happily.

"The gun I have to handle more carefully, of course. So I put it in the lampstand drawer on my side of the bed like usual." She could tell by the sounds he was making that he'd started stroking himself. "Now I'm wet," she whispered, and waited for him to process the information before going on with her scene. "Now I'm rid of the badge, the mic, the gun . . . all that's left is the handcuffs." She paused and snaked her hand lower. Almost between her legs. "Those I _don't_ put away. I toss them on the other side of the bed."

Ichabod mewled softly and stared at the other side of his bed. He imagined her cuffs nestled there, shining amid a landscape of dull beige blanket like a promise of excitement.

"I unbutton my shirt the rest of the way, let it drop to the floor . . . " she drew a long, sultry breath. "Do you wanna take care of my pants?"

A strangled but enthusiastic noise was the only response only response she got. She took it as a yes.

"Thought so." She tried to visualize his actions. "I took my time getting the shirt off, but you're in more of a hurry, aren't you?"

Ichabod sped up his stroke. "I need you," he whimpered. "The pants have to go. _Now."_

Abbie let a hand drop just far enough to brush her clit. "You sit up on the edge of the bed, and I can feel your breath on my belly when you pull me closer."

His shaft twitched as her low, wicked laugh rumbled in his ear.

_Cruel, cruel woman!_

"You have me out of the pants in seconds. And, and - _ooooooh . . . _how hard are you?"

"I'm so, so -" his breathing became ragged and uneven. "Abbie, I'm switching to speaker, I can't hold the -"

She filled in the rest for herself, and did the same. "Where were we?" she purred.

"I've removed your pants."

"Right. . . " she took a moment to enjoy having both hands free to pleasure herself. "I take care of the bra."

"You're undressed," Ichabod said with a relieved sigh, as though seeing her clothed caused him unbearable pain even if it was only in his imagination.

"Yeah but - ah! - she cried as her clit hummed with sharp arousal. "But you're not. The damn PJ pants are pissing me off."

"So I stand up and remove them," Ichabod contributed to the scene with a throaty moan. "What happens next?"

Abbie knew immediately without even thinking about it. "I sit down on the bed and- _fuck!"_ she shouted abruptly when she hit a sensitive place, and the muscles inside her answered with a lively shiver. "Fuck, I'm so wet!" She wasn't sure she could keep talking.

"Keep going Abbie," Ichabod begged. "Please keep going."

She rallied every brain cell she had to spare. "I pull you close and swallow every inch I can." She heard his body writhe and thrash on the mattress. "What I can't get down I pet, and stroke, and lick when I'm not sucking. You're so hard for me."

"I am Abbie!" he insisted. "You have no idea!"

She bit her lip and whimpered, trying to picture not only her fictional scenario, but also him in the hotel room, stroking himself while she talked. "I love it," she continued. "Taking you down. Hearing how much you love what I do to you." Her voice jumped several octaves higher and started to crack. "You love-ah! _Aaaaahhhhhh_, Crane you love m-m-me so much!"

"I do." His voice was so thin she could barely hear him. "I love you so much. I'm so s-sorry I put us through this!"

"Doesn't matter," Abbie insisted as she rubbed her clit harder and bucked against the fingers pushed inside her so they hit those particular places that made her body sing and shatter at the same time. "I keep you . . . ooooooohhhh, God. I keep you in my mouth," she gasped, "until you cum and I - it's _perfect! _Perfect!" Her back arched off the bed, and she let out a high pitched broken cry as she came.

He sped up his stroke and waited for her to calm down before asking the lingering question. "What . . . " he panted, "what about the handcuffs?"

"They're for when you get home, Ichabod." She said, tired but firm.

The resolute tone of her voice made him throb. Again, he sped up his stroke.

"And no. I will not tell you anything more. You'll find out in two weeks. Because that is when you're coming home, right Ichabod?"

"Oh! Ah,ah,ah!" Release was creeping through his body, moving farther south as his stroke went from fast to frantic.

"Two weeks? Yes?!" Abbie growled, determined to get her answer.

"Yes I, I, yes! Yes, I'll -" the rest of his words were lost to a long gasp and a muscle-tensed, raspy moan.

Ichabod made good on his word. He worked at the Gillman Animal Rehab Clinic for exactly two weeks.

**PRESENT DAY**

He took the first available flight home.

The original plan was, of course, for Max to fly out and pick him up, but he was too busy learning magic from Katrina, and weapons and general ass kicking from Jenny. He loved Kat, and considered the rest of them just as much his friends as Simon, so he was more than eager to posse up and fight by their side.

However, in his own words: "This is my first Apocalypse. I'll need training."

Ichabod practically burst with relief when he spotted her in the crowd. "I haven't been this glad to see you since the day you broke Malphus's spell," he sighed as he caught Abbie in his arms and lifted her up.

"Welcome home," she giggled as he gripped her tight.

During the drive home Ichabod told her all about helping the Gillman family design a wolf run, teaching them how to safely restrain and treat wounded predators, bottle feed various species, etc. Though he was obviously glad to be back, it was equally obvious that he'd enjoyed his Simon Time.

"Did they already have rescue animals there?" asked Abbie.

"Wild animals? Not many. They're still prepping the facility and grounds to accommodate most species, but they did have three orphaned raccoons and an injured barn owl. As far as domesticated animals they had . . . " he shook his head and pursed himself lips mournfully, "six terribly neglected horses."

"Oh, that's terrible!"

Ichabod nodded. "The Gillmans have done a wonderful job with them. When they first received the poor animals only two could walk more than ten feet without assistance. They were all starving, covered with fleas, ticks, skin infections. But by the time I arrived?" He smiled a bit. "All but one was healthy enough to feed themselves, and done with the antibiotics and worm treatments." His smile grew. "I even got to take the cast off Dutchess's hind leg the other day. She was _delighted_. Here," he whipped out his phone and showed Abbie a picture of a dark brown horse with a healthy looking coat (aside from one missing patch on her right side) and no visible ribs. Also no cast. Simon stood next to her, petting her mane and beaming. "I've got dozens of others," he said as he tucked the phone back in his pocket, "but I'll wait till we get home."

_Try tomorrow,_ Abbie thought, still working out the details of her less than wholesome homecoming celebration.

"Wait . . ." Ichabod raised an eyebrow in her general direction. "I believe some weeks ago there was mention of a pair of handcuffs for future use?"

_Aw, dammit! Screw you and your photographic memory!_

Abbie scoffed with false disbelief. "Really? You go from abused animals to sex just like that?" She snapped her fingers. "You're a sick man."

"But a man nonetheless," he said, his eyes darkening.

Abbie could feel his stare. She kept her eyes riveted on the road ahead.

"Considering that fact coupled with the length of time we've been apart, and you should be impressed I didn't try anything right there in the parking garage."

Abbie laughed. "The garage crawling people? Suuuuure."

"People in the throes of happy reunions, paying little attention to anything else." Ichabod smirked. "And we've got these," he tapped the vehicle's tinted windows. "I should have thought of it, actually. I think we could've gotten away with a dozen sorts of indiscretion."

Just like when she drove Ichabod out to the airfield all those weeks ago, Abbie had to constantly remind herself that she had a plan. And this one was especially important because the sonofabitch deserved it.

Suffering.

The last five miles of the drive were pure hell. It was all Abbie could do to keep from noticeably squirming in her seat. And she had to keep up idle chit chat.

_Hell, hell, HELL!_

When they arrived home she reached into her pocket and curled her fingers around the handcuffs, ready to strike at the first opportune moment. She hardly had to wait a second. He turned to close the door, and in the fashion of a natural born cop, she had the cuffs out of her pocket and around his wrists in the blink of an eye, despite her smaller stature.

Ichabod cried out in surprise as he was yanked to his knees.

"Do you know what you put me through?" Abbie yelled as she kicked the door closed.

Ichabod tilted his head all the way back so he could see her face. She may as well have been carved in stone, except for her eyes. Her eyes promised . . . _something._

"I have some idea," he breathed, mind zipping through the myriad of possibilities.

She shook her head. "Bullshit. I've been stuck here with the End of Days, and you got to drink beers with your friends. And," she added, "spend another two weeks away doing something Simon loves. And hey, yippee for Simon, but you?" She gave his arms a harsh tug. "You owe me. Understood?"

_So this is what it feels like,_ he thought, flashing back to their first foray into this sort of thing. They'd only done it twice since, and both times Abbie had been the one to sacrifice control. _Let's see how this goes._

"I understand," he replied with a nod.

She pulled upward on the cuffs, cueing him to stand, and removed them. "We'll be using these later. In the meantime, back against the wall, palms flat at your sides."

She steered him toward the wall she wished him to stand against.

No wall divided the living room from the kitchen, but he was positioned at roughly the point where the one became the other. Bare wall and no furniture against the wall to his left, and a small hutch to his right currently used to house whatever spirits Ichabod had on hand. An ornate crystal decanter half full of scotch sat atop the counter surface, surrounded by equally ornate tumblers.

Once he settled into the required position, Abbie set the handcuffs down next to the scotch and pressed against him. She ran her hands down his sides and nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of him. "Hmmmm," she mused. "You know, you've been gone so long your pillow doesn't even smell like you." She stood on tip-toe and nipped his chin. "This is your home, Ichabod." She nipped again, a little harder this time. "The bed should _never_ stop smelling like you."

She stared at him steadily as she untucked his shirt and worked off his belt.

Ichabod thought maybe she'd go for his zipper next, but instead she just palmed him, grinning as she massaged him to half-hardness. Her other hand went other the shirt and clawed down his chest. Then his side. Then his back.

"No," Ichabod sighed sadly when her hand left him.

Abbie gave him a cold look. "I didn't explain the rules, did I?" She reared up on tip-toe again and sucked a generous mark onto his lower neck. It was just on the verge of becoming painful when she stopped. "The Safeword is still Snow, but otherwise I don't get a no from you, okay?"

Ichabod gulped and nodded.

"Not _no_, not _slow down_, no instruction of any kind unless I ask."

He nodded again.

"Great!" She chirped with a smile, then grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled as hard as she could. "Down."

Ichabod fell to his knees. The impact hurt, but the look on Abbie's face more than made up for it. Eyelids heavy, lips slightly parted, and hints of a smile playing just beneath the surface.

"You're pretty this way, Crane," she said as she brushed her fingers over his lips. He sighed in response to the praise, and she took the opportunity to slide a finger into his mouth. "So pretty."

He strained against his pants as Abbie's fingers swept gently over his pliant, languid tongue.

"Would you like to unzip your pants, sweetheart?" She asked, withdrawing her fingers so Ichabod could answer the question.

"Yes." He replied, aching for permission. "Yes I would."

"Maybe when I get back." She patted him on the head as though he were a house pet and vanished down the hall.

His arms went rigid at his sides, hands formed into tight fists while he resisted the urge to touch himself over the pants. She hadn't given him permission.

_It has to happen at some point, right? _he told himself. He knew it was true, but that did nothing to abate the urge to disregard his role and do as he wanted. And what he wanted was to rip his pants open and stroke himself until she returned.

_She'll let you soon, _he assured himself. _We've had nothing but phone sex for weeks, she must miss feeling me ins- _he realized how unhelpful that train of thought was just as Abbie re-appeared.

"Oooooohhhhh," Ichabod groaned.

She was wearing one of his old 1700s shirts, and no pants. The shirt fell so low on her thigh, he couldn't tell whether or not she was wearing panties.

I'll bet you didn't expect this, did you? she thought, sort of in love with her ability to shock him, to make his body clench and vibrate the way it was right at that moment. I'll bet you were thinking something lacy, or slinky . .

"Hm." She chewed her lower lip and backed up as though conducting an inspection. "Okay . . . here's what I want . . . you stand up. Flat against the wall like before. Unzip, stroke yourself _exactly_ seven times, then put your hands on the wall as well."

"Start n-now?" He didn't want to jump the gun.

She nodded.

He leapt to his feet and sagged against the wall, flooded with relief.

"Look at me!" Abbie commanded the moment he had himself freed. "Seven."

At his first stroke, she took a step toward him. The synchronicity was not lost on Ichabod.

Two. Three. Four . . .

Step. Step. Step.

By the time his hand slid up his length for the seventh time, her toes were touching his shoes.

_Hands down._ He was amazed he had the discipline to do it even as his fingers met the wall.

His throat went dry when she touched him, her teasing hand drifting slowly to the base of his shaft and taking ahold. Firm grip. Not tight. Firm.

She chuckled, low and rumbling, as she watched his reaction unfold. "So," she sighed. "You have three options, Crane." She drew her hand up and down his erect flesh as she spoke.

_Pay attention!_ He admonished himself as his focus swam in a sea of arousal and body shivered. _She's talking, you have to - oh God, that feels amazing - PAY ATTENTION!_

"I can get you off like this," she gave him a quick squeeze then went on stroking. "Or get on my knees right here. Or . . . we go to our bed and you cum inside me."

Under normal circumstances it would probably have been a more difficult decision. But he'd spent the last month and a half stroking himself to orgasm, so having her do it was out. That left the other two choices. And while Abbie didn't lack for talent on her knees, watching her cum while he thrust inside her was what he'd missed the most.

And he missed their bed.

"Bed," he rasped. "I want you in bed."

"You can move your hands now," she said with a grin before fisting both hands in his hair and crushing his mouth against hers.

"Mmmmm," he moaned into her mouth and immediately took advantage of the permission to touch her. Hair, neck, face. Yes. Breasts, back, ass. Yes. His hands traveled everywhere while she controlled their kiss. All he had to do is follow where she lead.

Before he knew what was happening she spun him around and shoved him into the wall.

He started to ask what the hell was going on, but thankfully stopped himself before the words escaped his mouth. The unasked question was answered when he felt cold metal close around his wrists. He'd completely forgotten about the handcuffs.

"Last chance to change your mind." She nuzzled his back as her fingers threaded through his. "Are you sure you want the bed?"

"Yes," he panted.

"Touch my clit?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Lick me?"

_I really enjoy torturing him,_ she thought. _It's probably not healthy._

Ichabod took a moment to rally his senses. "Yes. I want to taste you, I miss the way you taste _so much!"_

"Mmmmmmm," she peppered his back with little kisses. "I miss seeing you between my legs."

He whimpered and pressed his head against the wall.

"And I miss the way you fuck me."

She yanked him back by the cuffs and pushed him toward the bedroom. His knees were just barely steady enough to hold his body upright as he walked. Heat surged through his body when she unlocked one of the cuffs and hurled him to the bed.

He cooperated while she undressed him.

"Hands up there," she nodded to the headboard. He obeyed, and she looped the other cuff through one of the wooden slats.

The cuff snapped shut around his wrist, and he writhed with anticipation. "Abbie," he whispered, praying he could have her soon.

She stood up and walked to the foot of the bed. "Do you like my shirt Ichabod?" Her voice was soaked with lust.

"Very much," he replied in a similar tone. Pre-cum slicked the head of his pulsing shaft while pure need burned through every inch of his body.

Abbie smiled softly. "It's a good thing obeying me gets you hard, Crane. Because it turns out . . ." she pressed her hands between her legs. "Ordering you around gets me wet as hell."

Ichabod's throat released a series of small, desperate noises.

"Seriously," she murmured quietly. "If I make you go down on me, you may drown."

"What a lovely way to go," he whispered, and watche unblinking as she ran her hands over the wonderful swell of her hips, curled her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, and pulled it off.

No bra, and plain white panties.

Another man might consider it a weak effort in the 'being sexy' department, but as much as Ichabod enjoyed the lace-and-silk ensembles, he also loved Abbie's ability to stand in anything and _make it sexy_ by sheer force of will. His breath hitched as she crawled up his body. She straddled him and lavished his throat and earlobes with attention. Then she held his arms down and hovered over his mouth, almost out of reach. He had to strain toward her to win a soft touch of her lips against his, or a brief flick of her tongue.

"These are your last direct instructions, okay?" she whispered. "So listen close." She moved lower to allow him a deeper kiss before continuing. "When I uncuff you you're going to take off my panties, get your head between my legs, and stay busy until I'm close. Then you will give me every inch of this," she rocked her hips over his hardness. "And fuck me however you want as long as you're inside me when you cum."

Ichabod moved with the speed of a hummingbird the second the cuffs were removed. He tossed Abbie down on the mattress, disposed of her panties, and got to work devouring her sex.

_Forty four days_, the thought as she bucked into his mouth and clawed at the sheets. _Forty four days since I felt her go wild for me._ The sound of her cumming could be had by phone. The sight of her cumming by camera. But nothing could give him the reality except having it. The warm slick shudder when his tongue found a good spot, or he rubbed her clit just the right way. Actually _feeling_ her body respond to his touch after so long proved too much to withstand. He was only down on her for a few minutes before he knew he'd cum soon, powerless to do anything else despite his formidable self control.

"Ah!" She cried out and gripped his waist as he surged into her. "God I missed you," she whined, her voice weak and throaty. "I . . . more, I need - _yes!_ Yes that's -" Ichabod drove deeper, ending each inward thrust with a roll of his hips, and her interest in speaking was promptly and utterly demolished.

"Abbie," he chanted as he thrust. "Abbie, Abbie, Abbie -ah! Oh! There you are," he whispered as her muscles started to clench around him, tight and wanting. "There you -AH! Abbie, _Abbie!_" He gripped her thigh and released himself inside her as promised, cumming harder than he had in . . . well, in forty four days.

_You can never leave me for that long again! _Abbie thought as he collapsed by her side, gasping for air.

"We are brilliant together," he whispered as a tired, sex-drunk smile wobbled onto his face.

"Mm-hm." She stretched and yawned. "Brilliant and worn out."

They rolled over in unison and he wrapped an arm around her midsection, snuggling close. He meant to whisper something sweet and romantic in her ear, but she was sound asleep before he could think of anything good.


	9. Giving and Getting

**Don't worry, I transition off of Katrina/Max pretty quickly (I like writing Max and Kat, but I'm not sure how well it sells reader-wise). I really liked writing this chapter. It's got character stuff, smut, some schmoop. All of the things.**

**And something special. **

**Have I thanked you guys for the support enough? Cuz it's tasty**.

Kat helped Max lower himself onto the couch as he hissed in pain. He'd been injured in their most recent face off with the denizens of hell. Broken arm and mildly bruised ribs.

She sighed and furrowed her brow in self-recrimination. "I should have insisted you find yourself a normal, safe job. Well, better late than never, I suppose. You should apply at the animal clinic, I hear they're looking for someone."

Max gave her a look like she'd just turned a strange color. "Are you seriously telling me not to fight?"

She sat my his side and placed a hand on his kneel patting affectionately. "I want you safe. Or at least as safe as possible."

Max scoffed. "Well then you should have made me fly my ass back to Maine when I originally planned to, because this is not open for discussion."

"Excuse me?" Kat was taken aback.

"Look," he winced as he adjusted himself on the couch. "I realize you're used to being married to the most accommodating man on the planet, but -"

"My 'excuse me' stands!" She was quickly moving from upset to angry.

Max threw up his one good hand. "Hey, I love Ichabod - basically as much as I love Simon which is a whole other thing - but I've been catching up on all the backstory I missed, and not only did he have _no clue_ you were a witch, when he did find out his reaction was: meh_._" He shook his head, baffled. "And he should have been _pissed."_

Kat's hand left Max's knee and she scooted away from him. "He wasn't upset because he understood that I did it to protect him!"

"Too bad!" Max almost yelled, exasperated. "It wasn't a tiny little lie, Kat. not like 'oh I love the haircut honey, it doesn't look at all like a drunk squirrel attacked your head.' Being a witch was and is a huuuuuuge part of who you are."

She still seemed baffled by his reaction.

"Well isn't it? Or is it like . . . more of a hobby? Y'know: 'I like quilting, skiing, and conjuring shit'? We're talking about a massive part of your identity here, and your _husband, _the person who's supposed to know you better than anyone, had no idea!"

At that point Kat stood up and pointed a finger at him. "That is completely unfair, Maxwell!"

_Aaaaaaaand we've busted out the whole name. Great._

"Witches and those who harbored them were constantly hunted, there were _literally_ torch wielding mobs after us!"

"I'd risk it."

"What?"

"If it's a choice between a torch wielding mob or being left in the dark about a huge part of your life?" He shrugged. "Bring on the mob."

Kat sat back down, stunned and searching for something to say. Max filled the silence with further explanation.

"Being someone's _Life Partner _means you face the big shit together. United front, start to finish. Fighting the Apocalypse is part of your life which makes it part of my life, so I damn well will stay in it, and I repeat: not a discussion.

"Oh . . ." Kat's face showed all the symptoms of an almost-cry. Welled up eyes, wobbling chin._ "Max . . . "_

Max teetered on the edge right along with her. "If you make me cry you're not allowed to tell anyone but Simon!"

She nuzzled his nose and said softly, "I take it back. You face everything I face."

Max nuzzled and kissed her back. "Promise?"

"Promise," she whispered, caressing his face. "Darling?"

"Hm?" he mused in reply.

"Have those pain meds kicked in yet?" She fluttered her eyelids. "I'm having thoughts."

Meanwhile at the cabin, Abbie and Ichabod were reclined at opposite ends of the couch enjoying mutual post-battle foot rubs. Their injuries had been slight, but it was always taxing when the Apocalypse reared its ugly head. Physically and emotionally.

"Eep!" Abbie squeaked, momentarily jerking her foot away.

"Ticklish?" Inquired Ichabod.

"Just the one spot."

He avoided the spot in question despite the temptation to do otherwise and watch her try to squirm free. She was wearing a pair of her 'comfy shorts,' leaving a tempting expanse of leg exposed, and Ichabod ran a hand up her bare calf.

"Any other ticklish spots I should know about?" He asked, his train of thought obviously beginning to diverge from the foot rub.

_"Seriously_ Ichabod?" Abbie chuckled and shook her head. "How are you not exhausted? I'm amazed my fingers have the energy to rub your feet!"

"Must be all those years as a soldier," he replied as he repositioned himself, withdrawing his foot from Abbie's hands and pulling himself into a crouch. "Marching for days on end, battling for hours." He lifted her legs juuuuuuust enough to kiss and run his lips over her knees. "It takes a hell of a lot to truly exhaust me."

"Yes, I know," Abbie rolled her eyes. "You're big big stud. Oh, what a lucky girl I am, blablahblah. Some of us are actual _humans, _okay? We need our rest and relaxation."

Ichabod put his full weight on his haunches and shimmied forward between Abbie's legs. "Mmmmm," he bent down to kiss her lower thigh. "Do you know what I find exceptionally relaxing?" He went on kissing delicately between words. ". . .The afterglow when someone's gotten you off with no expectation of reciprocal service."

_The man will try ANY argument._ Abbie laughed inwardly. _Although . . . it is a good argument. Then again, he could just be trying to get his foot in the door figuring I'll magically find the energy once we get going._

"So what you're saying," she took a beat to enjoy his methods of persuasion. "Is all me stuff, no you stuff?"

He took the elastic waistband of her shorts between his teeth, tugged a bit, and released it with an audacious grin. "All you stuff." His shrewd eyes rose from her navel to her face. "No me stuff."

_I recognize that look on your face, Abbie. I've almost got you._

She allowed Ichabod to press her thighs apart. "Sounds too good to be true, Crane."

"You just described our entire relationship," he purred as he rose up and took ahold of Abbie's shorts with both hands and stared at her, waiting for a definitive answer.

"Well if you're gonna keep whining about it," she said as she lifted her hips. "I'll be nice."

"Isn't she generous," Ichabod whispered to the room in general as he removed her shorts and panties in one go. What he saw pleased him. "Play the reluctant lady all you'd like, dear one. I have fairly compelling evidence," he brushed the back of his hand over her center, "that you're quite happy to accept my offer."

She smirked at him. "Monologuing does not get me off."

He answered her sass with a wink and a wicked look as he maneuvered himself into proper position.

_How to begin?_

She hadn't much energy, so while he usually liked to keep her on her toes (so to speak), this time he began with a slow, gentle lick over her clit. A move he repeated several times before slowly increasing pressure. Each increase was met with a soft sigh.

_Reluctant indeed._

He pushed her lower thighs up enough to gain a better downward angle on her increasingly slick core, and pressed his mouth against her with a vigorous, roaming tongue. For a long time he played between her legs with the enthusiasm of a young man experiencing a woman's warm folds for the first time, but the skill of a well trained erotic specialist.

_Well done, Ichabod,_ he congratulated himself as his attentions won him gasp after gasp, quiet moans, and an occasional full body shudder.

There were many things in life Ichabod knew he'd never be good at. This was not one of them. He was neither foolish nor braggart enough to claim he'd stepped into the world of sex already a fully formed grand talent, but his desire to please those he cared for coupled with his innate passion for learning made him the ideal student. That quality alone won him considerable praise from the small handful of women he bedded before meeting Katrina (and of course Katrina herself).

When Abbie went from rolling her hips to bucking into his mouth, he knew it was time to take things up a notch.

"Mmmmmm," she moaned as two fingers began to scissor and curl inside her. "This was a ah! A good, ooooooohhhh . . . a good idea." A long, ragged breath escaped her, and she threaded her fingers through his hair.

He looked up and saw that her shoulders were beginning to twitch and shake of their own accord.

_Perfect. Time to get serious._

Ichabod set to seeking out those places inside her waiting to be found. To be pleasured until the final surge broke free and lit everything on fire. There was a particular spot Ichabod liked to hunt down. Every time he did find it, it was simple. He stroked with the pad of his fingers, moved forward to the depth of her, curled his fingers, and pressed against the same spot on the way back, using his knuckle to massage while he licked her clit at whatever pace elicited the right response.

It wasn't a foolproof formula, but it worked more than half the time. It was the move Ichabod reached for (with minor variations to keep things interesting) when he planned to make her cum many times over. On those occasions he usually delayed himself until he either achieved his goal, or his own need ran away with him.

_Success! _He thought when he found what he was looking for. _Now let's just hope . . ._

Abbie's mouth flung open in a silent cry as she rocked her hips, bucking wildly for more friction.

More friction.

More friction.

Ichabod reveled in every nuance of her body as she came. He slowed only when she slowed, and did not withdraw until she settled into the welcoming arms of satiated lust.

"There," he whispered, kissing her belly just below the navel. "Are you more relaxed than before?"

"Mm-hm," she replied sleepily, barely aware of Ichabod working her panties and shorts back on. "Much."

She noticed something when she lifted her hips so he could finish re-dressing her. "You're . . . you're not even half-"

"No me. All you," he cut her off. "That was our agreement." He glanced down at himself and shrugged. "It's not so difficult if you've got the purpose set in mind from the start."

"Are you sure you don't want -" the rest of her question was lost to a long, deep yawn.

"No," he replied with a fond expression as he stood up and kissed her forehead. "I do appreciate the offer, but a lover falling asleep while servicing me is oddly missing from my list of fantasies."

He gave her another kiss on the forehead and strode to the kitchen for a glass of water. His phone was out on the table and he noticed he'd missed a text. "Huh. Katrina texted us five minutes ago, I must have left this thing on vibrate again."

"Is there trouble?" Abbie asked as she flipped on her side and curled into fetal position. "Please say no."

"Uh-uh." Ichabod confirmed. "She says: 'Max is asleep and I want sushi. You+Abbie+Me' and an emoticon with a question mark over its little yellow head."

"You can go," Abbie mumbled, yawning again.

"You don't wish to be kept company?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Baby, all I'm gonna do is _sleep. _No reason for you to be bored."

"Alright then." He nodded. "In that case I believe there's a great deal of raw fish nearby with my name on it." He changed out of his comfy clothes and into a pair of faded jeans with a dark gray shirt he selected at random. Abbie was snoring softly by the time he got out the door.

Katrina got to the point after they made their orders. "I owe you an apology, Ichabod. Max pointed out to me today that it was terribly wrong of me not to tell you my secret. Being a witch, I mean. It was an unfair, unwifely thing to do. And I sincerely apologize."

"Nonsense."Ichabod scoffed. "You had perfectly sound reasons to keep it from-"

She held up a finger. "That's the other thing he pointed out. You're an idiot."

Ichabod's poster exuded a huffy quality. "Excuse me?"

Katrina giggled. "Those were exactly my words. But . . . " she launched into Max's whole explanation, stopping to elaborate on several points. Their sushi had arrived by the time she finished.

"Unbelievable," Ichabod muttered as he slid the chopsticks out if their paper sleeve. "I really _should have_ wanted to chew you a new asshole! Of course that's not how I would have phrased it then. Let's see," he paused to eat a piece of sushi. "How would I have phrased it absent Simon?" He cleared his throat.

Katrina selected a piece from her own plate and sat back, waiting to be amused.

"I . . . " Ichabod thought carefully. "I . . . shall firmly admonish her the moment she is freed from Purgatory!"

"Why hello, old Ichabod." Katrina clapped.

He shrugged. "Something in that wheelhouse. 'Firmly admonish' would have to be in there somewhere. Or maybe censure."

"I think that one," Katrina said with a nod as she tried to decide what to eat next. "_Admonish_ seems as though you're just being rather stern with someone. _Censure_ sounds more serious. And as I said before," she popped a piece in her mouth. "Oh, try that one!" She exclaimed around the morsel, covering her mouth as she spoke. "I'll trade you the maguro." She finished her bite before speaking again. "As I said, you'd have been in the right."

Ichabod frowned. "So the success of our marriage from the time you came here to the time we separated hinged on me being too _stupid_ to realize what a wrong thing you'd done. Wonderful." He ate the sushi Katrina had recommended. "Oh that is brilliant!"

Katrina leaned back and glanced under the table. "Changing the subject, I'm taking you shoe shopping after this."

"Why?" he whined through a mouthful of unagi.

"Because those poor things you're wearing are falling apart and ought to be put out of their misery."

"Fine," Ichabod grumbled. "Abbie will love you, by the way. She's been at me for weeks to get new shoes."

Ichabod was no more excited about the prospect of shopping thirty minutes later while Katrina was navigating him down the sidewalk.

"We just passed a shoe store!" Ichabod exclaimed, eager to find a pair and be done with it.

"Nope," Katrina chirped, a happy spring in her step. "We're going to Lee's Footwear and Leather Works. It's another four blocks down."

Ichabod's already minimal enthusiasm plummeted further. _Shoes! All I need is bloody shoes, why must I buy them from Lee's specifically?! _Simon shared his disinterest in clothes shopping, so the internal rant was met with no counter argument. _For a tailor-made garment, fine. One must trust their tailor, so a certain customer loyalty makes sense, but SHOES ARE MASS PRODUCED! What's offered from one purveyor will likely be offered by all the others!_

Katrina yanked his arm as into a right turn.

_I suppose certain places may cater to different niche markets as far as fashions go, and I suppose I have adopted a style of dress. Eco Warrior meets Bookworm according to Abbie. But my interest stops at the ankle. Give me one pair each of boot, shoe, and sandal, and my needs are met!_

They stopped at a crosswalk, and he couldn't take it any more.

"Why must we go to this Lee's and not either of the places we've passed?"

Katrina smiled. "My friend Kim Lee doesn't work in those places, his family owns the store."

"Kim Lee?"

"Young Asian man with a bright green streak in his hair. Wears a million bracelets. Gay as a bucket of glitter. You'll like him. He speaks four languages. Anyway, Lee's has fifty percent off sales one weekend a month to clear inventory, and somehow every single time I go there during Kim Lee's working hours it always seems to be that weekend!" She gave him a sly look. "Even on Wednesdays."

Ichabod did like Kim Lee. The man's passion was not just shoes, but cobbling and the craft of leather work in general. The shop carried hand bound journals and booklets, most boasting ornate hand-tooled and burnt design. The ones made by Kim Lee himself were displayed on a special racks up front. He also made/carried a type of hat that Ichabod found totally unappealing as an accessory - cowboy hat - but (at least in Kim Lee's masterful hands) impressive as statements of artistic skill. Wristbands, satchels, purses, jackets of course, the list went on. For a pretty penny he would even take on commission work. It was the first time in their lives Ichabod or Simon had the thought 'I must have those shoes.'

They both knew better than to voice the thought in front of Katrina. Abbie perhaps, but not Katrina. She'd make a meal of it, especially having known the old Ichabod. Days of teasing. No thank you.

By the time Ichabod and Katrina went on their way, Abbie was squirming her way back to consciousness. Arm twitch, eye flutter, roll over and sigh.

_Hello world. Yes, I had a nice nap thanks for asking._

She shuffled to the bedroom to get dressed, and heard Ichabod drive up as she was securing her belt. He came in carrying a surprising number of paper bags stamped with the logo Lee's Footwear and Leather Works in a forest green print.

"Is there anything left in the store?" Abbie asked as he set the bags down on the bed.

"It's not my fault, the Asian man seduced me."

Abbie stifled a laugh. "I'll just assume that's gonna make sense in a minute."

"Yes, but first," He lifted a box out of the bag. "I gave Kim Lee, that's the Asian man, your shoe size and a brief description of your personality overall and he swore to me you'd love these. I'm curious to see if he's right."

Abbie opened the box. Even though she wasn't much of a shoe gal, her eyes bugged out. Heels. The shining leather looked almost shellacked like wood, stained dark red with bleeding black shadows hinting at the curved edges. "I wanna have Kim Lee's babies!"

Ichabod chuckled. "Good luck talking him into it, the man makes General Gibbs seem subtle." He realized at once that he'd referenced someone Abbie knew nothing about, so he elaborated. "He was swishy as a fish. Brilliant strategist, very brave, and it wasn't much discussed except amongst his political enemies, but," Ichabod scoffed. "Well, _everyone knew."_

"Got ya," she smiled. "And FYI Crane, Christmas?" She held up one of the shoes. "I want a pair of every style he carries."

"Makes," Ichabod corrected. "The store does carry other options, but everything I purchased he made with his own two hands. A large factor in my purchasing enthusiasm, I think. So many arts have been lost to mass production in this era-" he stopped himself from diverging into an impassioned speech on the subject. "Anyhow, I bought you these as well." He handed her another box.

They were plain hiking boots, but clearly sturdy as hell. Solid cobble work, good traction on the sole. Abbie was pleased. "I'm gonna get a lotta use out of these, Crane."

He stood straight with his hands behind his back. "I know you appreciate practicality."

"What's in the other two hundred bags?"

Ichabod ducked his head and smiled, his face a bit red. He was embarrassed by his undeniable display of excess. "I blame Katrina most of all, she somehow makes shopping seem _fun_. Almost festive. It's baffling. Kim Lee possesses the same talent in addition to being an expert craftsman, and-"

"Show me, show me, show me!" Abbie insisted while bouncing on the bed like an exited little girl.

"Firstly, just so you don't worry about the finances, I recently did some research and found a few sources of Crane Family money to which I had rightful claim - if not for being disowned, and two hundred years a corpse - so I perpetrated some forgery and, well . . . I am quite comfortable." He saw the 'why didn't I know this' look on Abbie's face. "I've on,y had the funds for a week or so, and you know how my _regal upbringing_ embarrasses me. I do plan to go on living simply as ever, though apparently not immune to the occasional splurge. The money didn't . . . seem . . ." Ichabod's voice grew weaker as he spoke, "important." He rolled his eyes, suddenly aware of the flaw in his thinking. "Spoken like a man who's always it, the war years not withstanding." He gave Abbie a hopeful look. "Am I forgiven?"

Abbie spent a long moment thinking it over before she decided. Then pretended she was still thinking it over just to watch him sweat. She figured he had it coming.

"How about we say it depends on what's in those bags?"

"Bless you," he leaned over the expanse of bags to kiss her. "I love you."

Abbie smiled and resumed bouncing on the bed. "Show me, show me, show me!"

A pale brown leather jacket for her. Darker one for him. Small black handbag for her tooled with just enough pattern to show off Kim Lee's skill. Billfold for him. Black hat for Abbie (not cowboy style). Two hand bound books, one very large.

"It's often necessary for me to sketch this or that, moreover I like to sketch," Ichabod explained. "Between the two this purchase made sense, as did the smaller one. Notes and such." This was his rationale for the books.

Three satchels. Him, Abbie, Max.

"Did you get anything for Kat?"

"She wouldn't let me!" Ichabod insisted. "I tried, but Kim Lee even refused my money! No, what she got she paid for herself."

And finally, Ichabod presented the last of his unexpected spree. "Kim Lee designs these specifically for rustic homes, they'd look out of place in a modern environment," he said while taking the item from the bag. "If not downright ridiculous."

Stained wooden frame supporting stretched leather canvas, carved and burned with a mountain scape.

_Corbin would've loved that. He'd have hung it in the living room._

"I think I'll move the bookshelf and hang it in the living room," Ichabod mused.

The synchronicity gave Abbie a warm feeling.

Ichabod walked around to Abbie's side of the bed and flung himself down next to her. "And there you have it. My first totally irresponsible use of funds. I never thought myself the sort."

"Me either," she giggled, propped up on her arm next to him in the sliver of space between his body and the bags.

He shook his head and tried to bite back a smile. "It's all Katrina's evil doing. She and the mincing green haired genius conspired against me, I'm convinced of it." He tucked a piece of hair behind Abbie's ear and laughed. "Frivolous overspending aside, I'm inclined to do all my necessity shopping with Katrina. It would spare you the chore of having to drag me kicking and screaming -"

An odd expression flashed across Abbie's face. There and gone in a second, but Ichabod caught it. It was an expression he didn't recognize, which made him nervous. "What is it?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

Abbie opened and closed her mouth. "No," she shook her head. "I am not gonna be that girl, that girl sucks."

Ichabod frowned. "I'm confused."

She attempted a casual shrug and sat up. "Forget it, it's not important."

"No," Ichabod sat up and grabbed her arm as she tried to get off the bed. "If something is on your mind it will stay on your mind, and it want nothing between us that may fester."

Abbie rolled her eyes and groaned. "Okay," she turned to face him. "I don't think for one second that you'd do anything, but is there any _lingering_ . . . "

"Lingering what? Where?" The creases of Ichabod's frown deepened.

"Sort of . . . I mean, all the time you spend with Katrina, and how well you two get along -"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, quite surprised.

"I told you," Abbie squirmed, embarrassed, "I trust us, and I know it's stupid to -"

"It's not at all stupid," Ichabod assured her. "We share certain history and we are clearly still fond of one another, so no. No, you needn't apologize at all." He took her hands in his. "I no longer harbor romantic interest in Katrina. Nor she for me. In fact, during our lunch today we had an amusing conversation about some glaring issues in our relationship even from its start." He smiled. "It's a good story, I'll tell you later."

Abbie leaned her forehead against his with a soft laugh. "I honestly have no idea why I'm thinking about this crap."

"May I hazard a guess?"

Abbie nodded.

"Memory. True, my feelings have changed drastically, but I will always _remember_ what it felt like to fall in love with her. To propose," he chuckled. "My palms sweat like mad." Another relevant thought occurred to him. "Add to that, when we first met I spoke almost ceaselessly of my undying devotion to Katrina. My longing for Katrina. How my whole world was Katrina. It's only natural you should wonder if such strong feelings would truly go away." He squeezed her hands and hoped she would understand the next part. "I assure you our romance is a thing of the past, but what we did once feel was at the time was our one comfort amidst a crushing tide of war, chaos, and _constant_ fear. That sort of history . . . well, it does cement a kind of love between us, but I _swear to you,"_ he clenched his jaw and again prayed for her understanding. "It is a love between close friends only. Nothing more."

He moved closer and stroked her face. She sighed at his touch.

"Neither of us would alter a single thing about our present lives." He placed a delicate kiss just to the side of her mouth. "Not even if we could." He whispered, and hovered over her mouth for the briefest second before crushing himself against her.

She hauled herself over his lap in a straddle, kissing back with equal need and relief.

The two of them lived and loved on equal ground, and both appreciated the thousands of reasons it should have been impossible.

Without breaking their kiss Ichabod picked her up and stumbled the short distance between the foot of the bed and the old dresser with large oval mirror mounted in back. He braced himself against the mirror's frame to keep himself from slipping to the ground as he dropped Abbie on the its surface and flung himself against her body.

The mirror was designed to have a bit of tilt. Some adjustability. So the support it offered was barely enough to avoid a quick trip to the floor. Ichabod had to be careful even as he sighed at the warm wonder of Abbie's body. He moved his hand further down the slope of the mirror just in time to keep his knuckles from being crushed into the wall. During the narrow escape he never stopped tugging at Abbie's belt.

"I hate this accessory," he muttered as he used his own head to tilt hers back and gain more access to her neck. "Why do you wear such impediments?"

"Mm," she sighed. "I deal with your belts all the time, jackass. Work with it."

While he continued to work at her throat (and finally defeated the belt buckle), Abbie grabbed his his shirt at the back and pulled. He took the cue and broke contact for the fraction of a second it took to discard the shirt and promptly returned his attention to her already shirtless body, making quick work of getting her pants completely open and his hand inside.

She gasped at the contact and leaned back further, her head making contact with the mirror, which tipped in response to the impact.

Ichabod used his free hand to support himself on the dresser while he lunged forward and ran his tongue from the slope of her breasts to the underside of he her chin, arriving at her mouth for a fierce, affirming kiss.

Abbie let her weight fall fully against the mirror as she threw her arms around his neck and drew her legs up high enough to curl them around his back and rest her feet at the waistline of his pants.

Her body provided him with enough of an anchor to let go of the dresser and shimmy one side of his pants down without ceasing the firm stroke of his finger through the length of her dampening center.

Abbie's arms were just long enough to get a grip on his other pantleg and pull low enough for Ichabod to take care of the rest. Once he'd kicked his shoes, pants and underwear away he toed at his socks, having long since mastered the tricky art of no-handed sock removal.

The fabric of Abbie's bra was so thin Ichabod could see each hardened nipple beneath, and the sight convinced him it was time for the bra to go away. He managed to unclasp the thing without help, but working it off her body was a team effort. After their awkward collaboration yeilded the desired result, it was her turn to brace herself against the dresser and use Ichabod's gently rocking hips as leverage to lift her ass up so he could slide her pants and panties off in one quick slide.

He was back at her before the clothes hit the floor.

He leaned against her with enough force to make the dresser rattle. Her ready tongue met his and she moaned into his mouth, stroking him urgently as if his body could vanish at any moment, and she needed to enjoy the heat and feel of him as long as she could.

_Fuck me, _she begged silently as their bodies lurched this way and that, the dresser clattering against the wall in an irregular rhythm. She voiced the urge only by letting go of his hardness in favor of aggressive bucking.

_Fuck me, fuck me, fuck-_

"Ah!" she cried and gasped at the top of her lungs when not one, or two, but three fingers found her wet enough to bury themselves inside her. She felt Ichabod's rumbling chuckle land hot on her ear before he took the earlobe between his teeth and tugged playfully.

"What's the rush, my love?" he asked, the strong thrust of his fingers a stark contrast to the soft sweetness of his words. Such contradictions always got Abbie hot as hell and he knew it, so he went on whispering on her ear. "My most adored_ (THRUST),_ darling _(THRUST)_, beautiful prize?" _(THRUST)_

Abbie fisted one hand in his hair and yanked him away from her ear to attack his mouth.

He gripped her thighs and stood up, kicking off from the dresser and spinning them around. The natural tilt of the action sent them stumbling to the bed.

What bags fell against their bodies he fumbled for and tossed away without a second glance, his whole focus on her flawless breasts as he kissed and sucked, paying special attention to each nipple.

In response to her ragged panting he moved lower.

Midsection.

Belly.

He was just about to leave the bed and kneel on the floor to pleasure her sex and inner thighs when she stopped him, her heels pressed to his shoulder blades like the hand of a referee.

"Nonono," she panted, her voice a lust drenched warble. "I got my stuff earlier. A lot of it."

Ichabod shrugged. "I don't mind -"

"And just between you and me," she cut him off. "Ooooooh," she sighed while he continued to rub his thumb over her clit even as she spoke. "I, I, I woke up earlier and played another round." She winked and flashed him the filthiest possible grin. "I've had plenty." She took her feet away from his shoulders, drew her knees up slightly, and spread her legs apart just enough to give him an unrestricted path to where she wanted him. "Your turn."

_She is a wonder, _Ichabod thought as he crawled slowly back up the line of her body with the stealthy grace of a prowling lion.

He kissed and nipped the terrain of her shoulder until he reached the smooth curve of her neck, and ended with a deep, forceful kiss. She met his force with a moan that shot straight to his shaft as it strained for her, practically commanding him to take her without relent.

He quickly arranged himself at her entrance and drove forward in exactly the manner his body craved. Half obscured by the haze of pleasure was the concern that it may contradict Abbie's desire. What if she prefered a gentler hand? As varied as their sex life was guesswork was often involved, but their instinct for one another was so keen, a guess was rarely wrong. As was clearly the the case in this instance. Proven by her ecstatic expression and arching back.

Her reaction swept away his worry and he went on driving forward, soon earning them both a thin sheen of sweat.

He laced their fingers together and pressed her hand hard to the mattress just above her head, propping himself up on his elbow to reach between them with his free hand and find her clit. Though she'd ordered him to foremost pursue his own pleasure, he wouldn't feel right without getting her to a decent plateau - if for no other reason than to feel the muscles inside her at least begin to contract and shiver around his surging length.

"Oh," he half-panted half-groaned."So close, I'm so close, Abbie! So ah! Ah! AH!

He swelled and spilled inside her with a violent shudder that ran the whole length of his spine and radiated to every muscle. When it was over he shoved more of Lee's stuff out of the way to make enough room for his body.

"How are you real?" He asked as he settled next to her with hardly enough breath to speak.

"Oh. I'm a cyborg," she replied with a snarky smile, equally breathless. "I've never mentioned that?"

Ichabod gave her a gentle shove.

"Jenny built me."

"Hmmmm," he nuzzled her face. "A milestone. We've been together long enough to joke in immediate afterglow." He mulled over their relationship. "How long has it been? Seven months?"

Abbie took he hand and rested it on her midsection as he rolled onto his back. "Sweetheart, it's been eleven months."

"No! That can't be, we began the night of Officer Rankin's Christmas party!"

"And now we're halfway through November."

Ichabod frowned. "Where the hell did summer go?"

"We spent most of it in the tunnels training Max and fighting those weirdass snake monsters." She shuddered. "They were like a damn rat infestation."

"So it's only a month until Rankin's Christmas party." Ichabod kissed her hand. "We shall have to make a grand night of it."

**A MONTH LATER:**

Officer Rankin greeted them at the door like the natural hos he was. "Come on in, come on in! I'm sure you remember where to find the coat room, I'm glad you two could make it!" He smiled and clapped his hands together. "So the rumor is you two had your first little kiss right out on my porch under the mistletoe?"

Abbie and Ichabod both beamed at him. Carl Rankin was like Santa's even more cheerful little brother.

"Uh-huh." said Abbie.

Rankin laughed. "I love it! I do, it just tickles me to pieces! I made a point of hanging some mistletoe in the same place this year so you two could have a little Anniversary Moment."

"Very kind of you," Ichabod said with a slight bow.

More people came to the door, so they exchanged cheerful goodbyes and went about socializing.

They did eventually make it to the porch and their mistletoe, and the 'couple bubble' closed tight around them right away, blocking out everyone and everything else.

Ichabod smiled down at her, amused.

"What?"

"You are _still_ comically tiny."

Abbie's smile threatened to split her face in half. "You're still comically _old."_

They shared a much longer kiss this time. It walked right up to, but didn't cross, the line of becoming inappropriate for public display.

Abbie remained in his arms when it ended.

"Do you ever think about the fact that had I risen a hundred years earlier or later than now someone else would be my fellow witness, and both of is would have lived and died without ever meeting?" Ichabod mused, resting his head atop hers. "Or I what if I _was_ brought to here and now, but fate chose someone else as my partner?"

"Mmm," Abbie replied with a shudder, snuggling deeper into his chest. "I'd rather not think about it."

Ichabod pulled back enough to thread his hands in hers. "Yes but let's. For a moment, let's. It was the two of us paired together. _Us_. From literally billions of possibilities. Not only am I resurrected at _exactly_ the right time to meet you, when you are neither a child nor elderly, but you are then the one I'm partnered with."

"And that's why we got to fall on love." Abbie breathed, the winter air contrasting the warmth of Ichabod's body.

It was on the tip of Ichabod's tongue to reply in the affirmative, but he realized something that stopped the words in his throat. "No . . . it's _how_ we got to fall in love. _Why_ is, for me," he gave her hands a solid squeeze. ". . . Abbie you are a bold, determined force on this earth. You live and speak your thoughts with such incredible confidence. Equally fearless in battle as in love." He gripped her hands tighter as emotion began to push his voice off kilter. "If I were given a choice between enduring all these trials and demons with you, or a calm and peaceful life without you?" He bit back whatever feeling it was he felt welling in his chest. "I would chose you. I have no doubt. The alternative wouldn't merit even a moment's consideration."

Abbie's brow furrowed as she drifted somewhere between confusion and uncertainty. "Um, Crane? This is starting to sound like a speech."

"I think . . . " he considered briefly then decided to commit to his train of thought and keep going. "It is a speech. It wasn't at the start, but it is now. Abbie, we both know that our role as witnesses does not guarantee either of us lives to see the end of this war. On any given day I could be killed by a demon, or horseman, or even . . . dammit, some stupid accident. And it has struck me just now that were I to die, my last _horrible_ thought would be that I hadn't married you. Or at least asked."

She stood dumbstruck as Ichabod let go of her hands in favor of stroking her face and dusting kisses over her forehead.

"Say yes and _nothing_ can stop me from dying a happy man."

Abbie had every intention of saying yes. Shouting yes, actually. It was getting her mouth to move and her brain to work that posed the problem.

Ichabod withdrew far enough to look at her, radiating love and amusement. "May I safely take your total silence as a yes?"

Abbie nodded, and would have smiled if not for Ichabod sweeping her into a kiss to rival every other they'd shared.

Perfect depth.

Perfect warmth.

Perfect meld.

Their past and future embodied in a fleeting moment.

"I would take a knee and do things properly," he whispered when they parted. "But you have accepted so it seems a bit redundant."

"Meh," Abbie shrugged, having finally found her words. "Buy me a cheeseburger at Rob's Diner tomorrow and I'll forgive you."

Ichabod smiled and pressed against her, his arms around her waist. "Abigail Mills, if you wish Rob can cater our wedding."

Abbie's eyes lit up. "You'd let me have _burgers_ at the wedding?"

Ichabod's smile grew. "And anything else on his menu. Wings. Ribs. Philly cheesesteak . . ."

She laughed and went up on tip-toes to give him a peck on the mouth.

"We should go tell Rankin of the engagement," Ichabod declared, holding his arm out for Abbie to take. "Even money says little Christmas elves burst out of chest and start dancing around."


	10. Plans and Expectations

**IF YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER YOU KNOW WHAT WE'RE HEADED FOR, BUT THERE'S SO MUCH STUFF THAT HAPPENS BETWEEN A PROPOSAL AND "THE BIG EVENT." THIS FIC COVERS A LITTLE STEP ALONG THE WAY (I promise I won't string it out forever ;)**

Ichabod stepped out of the hallway with a sour expression, still running the the towel over his head.

"You know," he grouched to Abbie, "popular media has wildly overplayed the pleasures of shower sex."

"Yeeeeaaaaah," Abbie agreed as she held her ice pack to the back of her shoulder. "There's another pack in the freezer if you need something for your hip, by the way."

Ichabod tossed his damp towel over the back of a chair and headed for the freezer. He wrapped a paper towel around the pack and pushed the waistband of his pj pants down far enough to press it against the tender, somewhat swollen muscle.

He faced leaned against the counter and sighed. "I suppose we were overdue for our first outright disaster."

"I think _disaster_ is a strong - nope, can't even finish the sentence." She cautiously put down the ice pack and reached for her iPad, which was in the center of the table. The shoulder responded with only minimal complaint.

Ichabod smiled fondly at her. "I'm just glad we both avoided spraining and concussion."

"Mm," she turned on the tablet. "Do I want a standard diamond engagement ring?" She asked, swiping the screen to unlock it. "Or something non-traditional so we can pretend it's just a fancy ring you got me when we go to visit Simon's friends? As far as they know we haven't been together very long."

"You want to meet my friends - my _other_ friends?" asked Ichabod, immediately realizing it was a stupid question. _Of course she'd want to meet the important people in my life, regardless of why they're important to me._

"Hey there's a weird thought," Abbie said, derailing his internal musing. "I'm actually marrying two guys aren't I? If you're always both _all_ the time?"

Ichabod opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He and his brain-mate spent quite a while pondering the question. "Er . . . it's . . . we're basically fused to the extent of being one man who answers to two names, and has two sets of memories. And even the memories sometimes fuse."

"What does that mean?" She set her tablet down on the table to dedicate her full attention to the conversation.

Ichabod grumbled. "I wish there'd been an introductory handbook on what to expect and how to explain this state of existence." He paused to gather his thoughts. "When I was a boy my best mate was a blonde fellow with a large scar on the back of his hand named Randy, and when I thought of him several weeks ago for I can't remember what reason, it took Simon and I the better part of ten minutes to work out whether our memory of Randy originated with him or me. Even though several of my memories involve us playing with remote control cars and other modern things, which you'd think would make it easy for us to identify the memory's true owner as my body's recent co-resident, and not the two hundred year old man."

Abbie leaned back in her chair and flung her feet up on the table. "Y'know Crane . . . when I found out I was chosen by divine forces to battle hell in the oncoming End of Days?" She shrugged. "Juuuuust assumed that would be the weirdest thing in my life."

Ichabod set his ice pack in the sink and strolled around to Abbie's side of the table. He leaned against it, his body at an angle, arms and legs crossed.

_He looks smug, _Abbie thought, preparing herself for him to say something ridiculous and/or quippy.

"I don't know why you're suddenly so concerned about the issue. Technically you slept with Simon the day you met him. Hadn't even known him a full hour, in fact. And I was completely out of the equation until . . . " he tucked Abbie's hair behind her ear and ran the back of his hand down her exposed neck. "My strongest anchor in this world reminded me."

"Doesn't count," Abbie insisted as she swatted his hand away. "I thought Simon was a total illusion and he'd _poof,"_ she waved her hand, "disappear once I got you to remember actual you!"

"Excuses, excuses," Ichabod grinned.

Abbie bit back a grin of her own.

Their banter was often competitive.

"Right. I should obviously have assumed my boyfriend had been turned into a freakish two brained, half old, half modern skin-suit."

"You do have to admit," said Ichabod "Simon and improve one another in many respects."

Abbie thought about it. "You did suddenly get a lot better at cooking. Simon?"

He smiled. "Correct. Now!" He swiveled and lowered himself so he was leaning over Abbie's shoulder, an arm on either side of her. "Let's have a look at our engagement ring selections."

She set the tablet on its stand and arranged it at an angle so she and Ichabod could both see the screen easily. "I'm gonna go with the non-diamond option."

"Whatever you wish," said Ichabod as he placed a lingering kiss at the crook of her neck. "As long as it's truly what you want and not an adjustment to accommodate Simon. We are both quite willing to present you to our friends as my wife, even if it would shock the hell out of them and set me up for a million obnoxious 'but you just met her' speeches."

Abbie turned her head and kissed his temple. "You're sweet. But no. Thinking about it now, going with something unusual feels right. Feels like us. Honestly," she went on as she typed the search term 'non diamond engagement rings', "if I wanted something that totally embodied the full scope of our _unusualness_, you'd be strapping a live animal to my finger."

"Hmmmmm," he mused, sliding his right hand close enough to hers to lace a few of their fingers together. "We could make it a black cat. Black goes with everything." He looked over the images on the screen. "Do you like any of these?"

"Not really."

"Me either. _Swipe,"_ he chirped as he brought up a new batch of images.

"Nothing." Abbie swiped. "Aaaaaaand there it is."

_I bet I know which gem she's looking at._

There were a number of setting and cut options for each gem.

"Might we be looking at the pale blue topaz?" Ichabod purred as he nuzzled her.

She reached around his head and tussled his almost dry hair. "I am. Do you like the oval or the princess cut?"

"You're the one who'll be wearing it the rest of your life." He couldn't resist nudging her head to the side far enough to kiss the length of her jawline. "I abstain from opinion."

"I like . . . the oval cut." She paused and let the selection settle in her brain for a moment to make sure it felt right. "Yup. Oval cut's the one. So now settings. Torn again. This is nice and simple," she pointed to one with a slender, white gold band. "Or this." Her second option was also a white gold, but the band circled about the pale topaz from opposite sides as if trying to hug it. The gem itself seemed to hover between those elegant arms.

"I think this one would look best on you." He pointed to the 'hugging' ring.

Abbie side-eyed him. "I thought you weren't gonna have an opinion?"

He side eyed her back. "I _always_ have an opinion." He snuck his body around her chair and crept in for a kiss. "I just choose to keep silent sometimes. But that ring," he kissed her softly, tongue brushing between her lips. "The band is more noticeable."

"Mmmmm," she breathed when he kissed her again, allowing the tip of his tongue to slide briefly over hers. "More noticeable. So it'll be easier to for guys to see I'm _your property?"_

"Other men are no threat to me." Ichabod chuckled. "I simply think the white gold will look phenomenal against your skin and the other one has such a slender band, it may undersell your beauty."

Abbie turned her body fully toward Ichabod and held his face gently in her hands. "You talk pretty," she whispered as she pulled him to her mouth.

He sighed, his whole body relaxing as her languid tongue roamed freely. She felt and tasted like fresh summer air.

She was just about to hop on the table and maneuver him between her legs when a thought struck her. "What about," she mumbled indistinctly, "your hip?" Now that the injuries were back on her radar, she didn't relish the thought of having a hard table against her shoulder blade. And most positions would aggravate his hip, especially at the point of thrusting.

Ichabod responded with a spiteful grumble. "We shall never attempt shower sex again." He stood up with a sigh.

"Bummer." Abbie slumped in her chair, equally annoyed. Until she looked up at Ichabod, who was gazing down at her. She always tell when he was contemplating something.

_I doubt you're thinking about work or weddings, Crane. Let's hear it._

"I'm having a thought," he said.

Abbie nodded. "I can see that. Your brain may as well send up a giant road flares."

_No one wears sex like you do, sweetheart._

"The thing is," he stepped close in a way that brought his growing erection inches from her face. "It would spare my hip and your shoulder any impact," he grinned. "And you are already sitting . . ."

Abbie gasped and half smirked. "Are _you_ actually requesting a blow job? We'll have to mark this day on the calendar and celebrate it every year!"

"We can discuss festivities later," his voice was soft and low. He tilted Abbie's chin up and ran his thumb over her lips. "At the moment I have another use in mind for that beautiful mouth of yours."

Abbie shivered. She'd never been the biggest fan of going down on a guy, but now just knowing it would usually be the thing she had to talk him into made it seem more appealing.

It got even better. Not only had he asked, he actually got himself out and and stroked for a while before positioning his shaft at the best angle for her to suck him easily. Instead of taking him right away, she lifted her gaze to meet his. The sight of her made his pulse hitch.

_Love never looked so obscene._

_From engagement rings to this,_ she thought as she slowly circled her tongue around the circumference of his tip.

His hand rested atop her head, and she relished the sound of him gasping and sighing while she gave all the best of her talent. She swallowed him as deep as she could - just a sliver shy of _too_ deep - then eased back and tried a few different paces before she found the one that got him to rock gently into her mouth.

She made sure not to grip or grab his hips, and passed over his bruised side with a light touch when she ran her hands up his body under the fabric of his 'it's too worn out to be anything but a nightshirt' shirt.

After a few minutes, she switched to kissing and lapping at the contours of his good hip while she gently massaged and stroked every inch of his length. A head-to-hilt stroke. She went back to sucking him when her jaw felt ready for more, this time firmer and faster.

"AH!" He cried out when she began ending every upward slide with a swipe of her tongue over his weeping head. "Oooooooh, oh amazing," he moaned as she sped up. "Simply - oh! I, Abbie, _ABBIE!"_

His long fingers curled around the back of her neck and stayed there, struggling for the discipline not to push her onto him and ruin her rhythm. Her mouth just felt _so good _it was difficult not to be greedy and seek more.

More depth.

More heat.

More of everything he'd have for all his life, promised in topaz and white gold.

Abbie felt him twitch and surge in her mouth, and knew he was close. She sealed her mouth around his tip, and sucked fiercely, pausing only to swallow pre cum. At the same time she held his base with a loose grip and stroked with increasing speed.

"So perfect," he panted, and aggressive shudder wracking his body, "so-so-so, _sssssssooooooo_ . . ."

Abbie felt him contract and swell, so she angled both herself and his rigid sex in a way as to most easily swallow while he came. Seconds later his garbled words became a long uneven moan, and waves of cum spilled into Abbie's mouth. She cleaned him of every drop, then withdrew and smiled up at him, her lips swollen and shinning.

"Mmmmm," he sighed and caressed her face.

Abbie turned and kissed the palm of his hand. "Happy?" She asked.

"Beyond," he replied with the wobbly smile of a drunk man. "If this planet is the starting point of happiness, and it grows exponentially? Then I am drifting amid undiscovered stars." He stroked his fingers through her hair. "Peaceful and weightless."

"Mm," Abbie dusted his thighs and hips with light kisses before working his pants back into place. "You talk _really_ pretty."

He pulled up a chair and lowered himself slowly, pleasantly surprised by how little the pain flared. Only a little extra twinge.

"Imagine when I write my vows," he said as he traced his fingers down her throat and along her collarbone in a continuous loop. "If anything I shall have to limit myself. There are so many things to say about the hows and whys of my feeling for you. The gift of what we have . . . and all that we will have . . . Apocalypse or no."

She nuzzled his nose and kissed him.

He could taste himself on her. He had known men who couldn't bear to kiss a woman after they'd performed the service of fellatio, and while he certainly wasn't inclined to seek out the experience for its own sake -

_(All due respect to the Kim Lees of the world)_

- he felt strongly that if a man found even a slight hint of his own release so disgusting, he'd no right to expect a woman to suffer the full impact. The etiquette of reciprocity further dictated he ought not expect permission to kiss _her_ whilst her arousal lingered in _his mouth._

Besides, a few conflicting appetites could be expected in a relationship, but at least one's committed lover should have the good grace to occasionally perform whatever task for the sake of the other's pleasure.

He answered her kiss with several more.

She withdrew and drummed her fingers on the table, her thoughts returning to practicalities. "Good call on the ring, Crane. Care to admit you enjoy helping me with this shit and gimmie a hand with the dress?"

He scooted his chair closer and prepared to render opinions while she typed in 'super slutty wedding dresses'.

"I'd poke you in the shoulder were it not injured." he deadpanned.

Abbie thought about it, trying to imagine herself in various styles just to narrow down the search field.

_80s glitter bombs are out. Poofy fluff monsters are a no. I hate big bow and flower shit . . . strapless or one shouldered dress, I think._

She typed in 'strapless wedding dress'

"I approve of the qualifier." Ichabod said with a smart nod.

Right away Abbie spotted a style that also went on the no list. "Okay," she looked at Ichabod. You are not allowed to vote for any of these." She pointed a model whose dress clung like sausage casing to well bellow the knee, then flared out. "I think they make women look like-"

"Fish." The two said in tandem.

"We,are in agreement," Ichabod assured her. "Speaking on Simon's behalf he does have an intense attachment to marine life in general, but it's not _that_ intense." He shook his head. "I don't care to imagine my bride with gills."

Abbie giggled softly and perused the other options.

"One detail I am very much on favor of . . ." He leaned in and trailed his fingers down her side. "Something that highlights this wonderful silhouette." He softly kissed her temple and mumbled against it, "we cannot let that feature go to waste."

_You'd never know the man just got a blow job._

All of their combined stipulations narrowed the field considerably.

Several were considered and discarded for various reasons. Then Abbie tapped and enlarged one whose breastline sat low enough expose cleavage, but not so much cleavage that there should be a neon sign next to her reading: CHECK THESE OUT!

As per Ichabod's preference, a horizontal crisscross of fabric pulled in close to celebrate her shape, but it opened into naturally falling semi-sheer waves instead of becoming a fish-dress. Each wave rippled alongside the loose (but not poofy) dress whose hem fell exactly at the knee while the sheer frame extended a few inches further.

The dress was unadorned with any bells or whistles.

_Hm, _Abbie chewed the edge of her lower lip. _Snug but no sausage, flow but no poof, and I'd probably be that bride who trips on her dress, so a little short is . . ._

She side eyed Ichabod with a broad smile. "Are you picturing me in it?"

"Mm," his fingers played gently over her midsection as though her body emitted notes of music only he could hear. "I'm picturing you walking toward me."

He angled himself to kiss the curve of her neck.

"And standing next to me."

He ran his mouth up the contours of her throat as she tilted her head to the side to grant him a wider expanse. Their attempt at shower sex had been such a failure, why not make up for it with excessive action on safer ground?

"And a whole catalog of far _filthier_ things," he whispered in her ear with a dangerous chuckle.

"Let me guess," Abbie sighed, "a whole lotta sex?"

_"Sex?"_ He scoffed. "Any fool can manage mere sex." He swiveled in his chair and pulled her to the correct angle so he could take the full depth her mouth without relent until the need to breathe dulled his lust enough to withdraw. "I'm stockpiling ideas as we speak. Feel free to do the same." He breathed deep and reveled in the sight of her. She was already falling in love with his narrative. He slid his hands beneath her thighs and pulled her body closer. "Our first wedded shall force the very _definition_ of sex to crumble at our feet and admit its insufficiency."

"That's ambitious," Abbie rasped as his right hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt.

"Mmmmm." His free hand slid around her waist and pulled her into a straddle over one leg. The leg attached to the uninjured hip. "Then we must team up like never before." He whispered as his hand slid over the pliant flesh of her breasts.

He'd been internally debating whether or not his body was recovered enough to handle full-on sex, but the temptation of Abbie Mills and all that _her body _offered him was too much to resist.

_Debate over,_ the thought as he guided her hand between his legs.

"We can do it Abbie," he said with a gasp as she gave his waistband the tiny tug it needed to get him free, "our partnership - ooooooh, keep doing that . . . !" Ichabod moaned as she granted his request. She began with a feathery stroke at his tip, and gradually firming the grip as her hand slid downward. "Our partnership has always proved successful, even in the face of setbacks."

Her breathing shallowed and she started to grind against his leg.

He could feel the warmth of her growing arousal, so he gripped her hips and helped her move with more force, thrusting his leg up with each forward roll to make sure her clit enjoyed the greatest possible friction.

Contact was broken just long enough for them to remove their shirts, then Ichabod wrapped his arms around her back and ducked his head to kiss and lap at her breasts. He soaked up the beautiful sensation of her chest rising and falling against his lips.

"What . . . " Abbie leaned back with a deep sigh, shivering when Ichabod's delicate tongue swept over each nipple. "Ab-about your . . ."

"Sod the hip." he declared, anticipating her query. "The pain has dulled enough." He moaned and laid lingering, sucking kisses over her perfect slope and swell. "Besides," (more kisses) "there are worse prices to pay-"

He stood up suddenly and set her on the table.

"For the privilege of being inside you."

He leaned into her and tugged one knee to his hip.

She took his cue and lifted the other, bracing herself on the table as she sunk back in response to the increasing angle of his body.

"However," he purred, placing kisses in a precise line from the base of her neck all the way to her belly. "If your shoulder is still in an angry a state, I am open to other suggestions."

"Yeah?" Her thin voice quivered.

_What shoulder?_

"I very much want to cum inside you," he whispered, discarding the precise line in favor of curious wandering. "But if the cost is your discomfort . . ."

He rose quickly to hover over her mouth. "The price is too high."

She perched all her weight on one elbow and used her free hand to pull him into a demanding kiss.

"I need you." She used her legs to push him firmly against her and rocked her hips. "In me." She rocked harder. "Now."

He rested his forehead on her chest with a relieved sigh as his hands fisted in the loose fabric of her pajama pants.

"Are we unclear on the meaning of 'now' Crane?" she asked, squirming impatiently beneath him.

_She must not be lying about that damn shoulder._

He promptly stood up and had the pants off in a blink. Just as quickly, he hauled her into a sit, her legs splayed at his sides and ass half off the table.

Abbie clutched his shoulders and they stared at each other as he reached between their bodies to guide himself in. She felt the tip of him slide _barely_ inside her, and her taught thigh muscles shivered, eager for more as the building heat in her belly pulsed and flared.

He braced himself on the table with one hand, and leaned in until she had him almost halfway. Rather than thrust for more depth, he rocked slowly up and down on the balls of his feet, working her wider. He loved the way her walls pushed back, challenging the rigid flesh of his hardness.

Abbie mewled and gasped at the sensation as her head lolled sideways and eyes fluttered shut.

_When? _she griped internally, needy as hell. He felt amazing inside her, but she craved him so much deeper. _Whenwhenwhen_-

Without warning he grabbed her hips and drove her onto his straining shaft.

"AH!" She cried and sucked in a sharp breath. Her head lurched into the crook of his neck while he went on thrusting, his hand gripping her thigh as tight as she gripped his shoulders, rasping and whining against his flesh.

Quick, shallow breaths accompanied his every thrust as the lively muscles surrounding him accepted his length with one wet quiver after another.

Their position made it hard for her to buck or adjust to him with any effectiveness, so he had the full responsibility of getting her off. "Hold on tight," he whispered in her ear before making a fist and pushing between their bodies until his knuckles hit what they were seeking. A warbling cry escaped her the moment he made contact, and he rubbed her clit in small circles until restraining himself was no longer an option.

The building heat in his gut roared to life and consumed him as he came, incinerating all interest in the world beyond their two bodies.

_This is better than anything,_ he thought over and over as it slowed and ended.

Afterwards he sat down and he kept at her with fingers and tongue until she rattled to a finish as well.

Abbie relaxed for a few minutes before pushing her body upright, dangling her legs off the edge of the table.

Ichabod couldn't help but giggle.

"What?"

"Your hair is all out of sorts and you've got the most delightful look on your face."

"Yeah?"

He nodded "All glowing and sleepy."

She nudged his knee with her toes. "Wanna take a picture?"

"The phone is all the way . . . over . . . oh, somewhere. I don't care to fetch it. Besides," he scooped her up and deposited her small body in his lap. "I find this more appealing at the moment."

The two snuggled and swayed gently until Abbie was motivated enough to get dressed again.

Ichabod opted to remain shirtless.

She tussled his hair playfully as she slid back into his lap. "Wanna help me pick out a veil?"

"You want to wear a veil?" It didn't strike him as very Abbie-like.

"No, but you might look nice in one."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Ichabod announced to the empty room, "the comedy stylings of Miss Abbie Mills!"


	11. A First Time

**This chapter surprised me. THE SMUT is here, but it takes a back seat, and I think it's also different than any other smut I've written.**

**GOOD NEWS: the next chapter will be THE BIG DAY. And it's really clear in my head right now so I'll more than likely have it up sometime in the next couple of days. **

Simon drummed his fingers on the table waiting for Max to return with the fourth round. He liked the Stumbling Goat. He was pretty sure he'd love it even if it wasn't reminiscent of the alehouses Ichabod and his school chums used to frequent, especially after exam weeks.

A memory of Ichabod's Simon particularly loved was the night he, Wallace Lannister, and Stewart Donnelly descended on their establishment of choice with the specific intent of drinking until they forgot the insufferable chore of Professor Sharpe's courses. The man was boring, dim witted, unworthy of his profession.

The three of them got so wrecked, when they woke up the next morning they were laying in a heap on the green of the Oxford courtyard. The back of Ichabod's shirt was ripped almost completely in two, Stewart was wearing a lady's bonnet, and Wallace had a spectacular bruise on his side. They also discovered pieces of paper stuffed down their trousers, each adorned with loose unskilled sketches of cartoonishly buxom women.

"Here ya go!" Max set a pint in front of Simon and slid into the booth with his own. He raised his glass. "To the fact that it took a walking fossil to help you lock down a woman!"

"I could have On my own!" Simon insisted, taking a swig of his beverage.

"Well it's a fucking good thing you didn't," Max took a generous gulp of his beer. "If Simon had a wifey of his own, who knows how you and Ichabod would have balanced out. You might have brushed off Abbie, flown back to Maine, and then I wouldn't have Kat."

Simon nodded, tipsy - ish. "Aaaaaaand then your life would be a meaningless pit, wrapped in a void, wrapped in . . . " he frowned. "Dammit, I didn't think that one through. . . Anyhow, I too am unspeakably thankful for the," he giggled, "the giant crow demon who gave me, who worked - who made - he did the thing."

"It's weird, right?" Max asked rhetorically. "There _was_ a dead body so, y'know, a guy got killed, but . . . all your actual you stuff is still alive so Malphus didn't _technically_ murder anyone. Except he did. But he didn't?" Max frowned. "I'm not drinking fast enough."

Simon grinned. "I'd make a fascinating discussion point in a philosophy or theology classes, wouldn't I? 'What defines personhood? Discuss.'" He took a small sip of his drink. His plan was to nurse beer number four long enough to stay level with the effect of beer number three so as to stay in descent(ish) enough condition to take on beer number five.

Max chortled. "Man, your ego would eat that up!"

"Indeed," Simon grinned. "It's a shame I can never reveal myself. My brain - mate being a Revolutionary War soldier brought forward two hundred plus years into the future by a witch is absurd, but I could probably onvince someone. its only my role in the Apocalypse prevents me from doing so. The general public shouldn't know about such things."

They suddenly realized a pair of attractive young women were standing next to their table staring at them with worry and a bit of fear.

"We're in a play." They said in tandem, both sporting 'please believe us' smiles.

"Rehearsing," Max added with a pretentious nod.

Simon mirrored his body language. "Got the lines down well enough to just," he clicked his tongue and clinked his pint glass against Max's "pop 'em out."

"Mm-hm," Max nodded again.

"Really?" asked one of the ladies. "What play? Are you performing at the Lincoln or the new place?"

The women were still well inside the just being social zone, but a few more of their . . . Simon recognized the cosmopolitans - and they'd likely cross over to the frisky/flirty zone. Best to scoot them along sooner rather than later.

He could see Max struggling for a response that wouldn't get them pegged as liars, so he jumped in. "Oh, neither. The play is only a drama exercise for a small theatre class. Our class was divided in half and we came up with the most ridiculous, outlandish script possible to trade with the other half, and now we must perform our given script well enough to . . . buy credibility, so to speak."

The other woman joined the conversation. "That," she pointed at them both, "is a great exercise. If my high school drama teacher had come up with an exercise like that, I may have stuck with theatre."

"Really?" asked Max brightly, as though Simon's bullishit story were true.

_Don't! Shut up! Shoo them away! _He sighed internally. _I have to do everything, I really do._

"Well it's been lovely talking with you ladies, but class is tomorrow, so . . ."

"Right, sorry," one of them said with actual sincerity as they both took a step back. "But you're gonna do great, guys. Seriously the acting was _spot on!"_

Max and Simon both raised their glasses in gratitude and the women went on their way.

Simon heaved a sigh of relief.

"How did you come up with that crap outta nowhere? asked Max._ "I_ almost bought it."

"I am well practiced in covert operations. " He took another sip.

Max blinked at him. "You fight the devil and bottle feed orphaned ferrets!"

Simon laughed. "But I was also a spy for the rebellion after I defected. And concealing my role in the war against evil also required stealth daily."

"Right." Max took a generous gulp of his beverage. "Ichabod brain."

Simon changed subjects without warning. "I think nights out like this will be easier once I'm wearing a wedding ring." He held up his hand, looked fondly at his ring finger, and imagined the white gold band that would be there in two weeks. A constant emblem of Abbie Mills.

"Easier how?"

Simon shrugged. "Fending off female advances. We're both quite handsome, you know. In fact you should probably marry Kat as soon as possible.

Max waved off the suggestion. "Neh - I mean eventually yeah, but right now we're both enjoying the illusion of non-attachment, if that makes sense."

Simon responded with a quizzical look.

"We're not like you and Abbie. At the end of the day I'd cut off my leg before being with anyone else and so would she, but we're both disgusting oglers. And we're flirty - to a point," he added hastily, not wanting to make it sound as though he and Kat were just roomies who had sex. "But I could care less if I catch her giving a guy the classic once -over glance." He took and drink. "Yeah, I'm sure I still wouldn't mind it even if we were married, but . . . I dunno, I guess we just like where we're at for now."

_You're baffling, Max._ Both Simon and Ichabod understood him perfectly well, but they couldn't imagine wanting such a relationship. _At least it works for you two._

Ichabod only had one strong concern. "But one day . . . ?"

"Biggest yes in the fucking world!"

They both chuckled.

"To what's meant to be!" Simon raised his glass.

They clinked glasses and Max took another drink. "I don't believe Kat and I are only together and planning a future because fate carved it in stone for us."

_You're confusing me Max. It's mean to confuse me while I'm getting drunk._

"But the Maxwell I knew would never have fallen in love so fast." Simon pointed out.

"Okay, we'll start there." Max took a small sip, also choosing Simon's pacing strategy. "Falling in love with her was _clearly_ out of my hands and no way it would have happened without divine intervention or what ever you wanna call it, but then . . . " he sighed. "It's hard to describe . . . "

_Really, I hadn't noticed._

"I felt it even my first night in town. As un-Maxlike as it was, I knew I wanted to be with her. But I also planned to fly back to Maine in three days like a sane person. Staying in Sleepy Hollow was a last minute decision. _My_ last minute decision." He pointed to himself. "So was moving in with her right away instead of getting my own place. And I believe those were all my choices. No puppet strings."

It suddenly struck both Simon and Ichabod as funny that he and Abbie reveled in the notion that their love was fated. A destined romance. Meanwhile Max insisted that free will was the deciding factor in his relationship, regardless of divine desire.

"What was my point?" Max frowned. "Oh yeah. I'm damn sure I'll marry Kat at some point. No doubt at all, but fate can fuck off. We'll get married when we both want to."

They returned to more frivolous subjects after that, and eventually switched to consuming water for the sake of recovered sobriety (and avoiding terrible hangover). Both were nearly sober enough to drive by last call.

"No way!" Yelled Max when the bartender called it. He looked at his phone and groaned. "Uuuugh, it's one thirty. I promised Kat I'd be home before midnight."

"Why hasn't she texted you?" Simon asked as he chugged down water.

Max sighed. "Our philosophy is we shouldn't need to babysit each other. I'll have to apologize in the morning." He cannonballed his water. "Blueberry pancakes. I'll make those, she loves those."

_I gave Abbie no particular time to expect me home, _he thought, worried that the exceptionally late hour might annoy her regardless.

He and Max walked around town waiting for the water to render them both wheel-ready.

On the drive back to the cabin, thoughts of fate versus choice began to trouble Ichabod. He and Abbie were basically placed in one another's paths, they'd no control whatsoever. If not for that, would Katrina have remained the love of his life? Would she have realized on her own that it was wrong to keep her powers a secret?

_Is what Abbie and I have just as predetermined as our role in the Apocalypse?_

It bothered him all the way home. At one point he even pulled over to think about it.

Abbie was sleeping soundly, but in her dreamstate she registered the feeling of someone stroking her hair. It felt nice.

"Mmmm," she sighed.

The long fingers combed through her hair as they stroked.

More bits and pieces of the real world began to take on form and meaning in her mind. The pillow pressed against her cheek. The shifting mattress as someone else's body moved.

_Cabin. In bed. Ichabod._

A soft kiss to her temple and the whisper of her name.

She rolled over on her back and saw his vague outline in the nearly - pitch dark.

"Did you enjoy your boy's night?" She asked while yawning and stretching.

"Mm-hm." He went on stroking her hair and face. "Sorry to wake you," he whispered. "But I have to tell you something."

"Okay," Abbie said, still trying to shake sleep out of her brain.

"Here," he guided her to sit up.

_It's a sitting up conversation? At three in the morning?_

"What is it?"

He scooted close to her and caressed her face.

"I _choose_ you."

"Huh?"

"Being with you." Ichabod swept his thumb along her cheekbone. "I choose it."

Abbie blinked and shook her head. "He says to the woman wearing his engagement ring."

"No, I mean -" his other hand went to the mattress and slid over hers. "I mean that even being in love did not dictate that we be together. We are agreed that we fell in love some time before the night of Rankin's party?"

"Yeah," Abbie muttered, still tired but starting to pay real attention.

"If not for that kiss who knows when or _if_ we'd have confronted our feelings. My first thought even as I continued to kiss you was 'stop it right now and return home' and 'it is your duty to stop this,' that sort of thing. Which means the kiss could have ended in an instant. Either or both of us could have rallied the strength. We chose not to. And then there is Katrina."

He moved his body closer to hers. "My first desire was to abide by my vows come hell or high water. Difficult as it would have been, brutal as it would have been, there was no gun to my head the next morning when I declared my desire to pursue _us _in the face of all risk. I could have spent the next days showering Katrina with attention and promises to repair our marriage."

She shifted in the mattress and he placed a hand on her leg, massaging gently.

"What did you think our future would be, Abbie? How did you imagine us in the years ahead?"

Abbie cleared her throat. "Doing our job and being friends."

"Even if we wanted otherwise?"

She nodded.

"And that's easily how it could be now." He moved so close to her that one leg slid beneath hers, the mattress giving way to his weight. "Right at this moment we could be in our separate homes having spent the day fighting side by side, and wishing like hell things between us were different."

Abbie made a soft sound and moved further onto his lap. "C'mon, we woulda cracked eventually."

"Possibly." Ichabod placed a kiss just to the side of her mouth. "We may have encountered a thousand circumstances begging us to choose our feelings over everything. But in every instance _we_ would be the ones to decide whether to resist or give in. So I just wanted you to know," he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body close enough to kiss his way down her neck. "Regardless the role of fate in our feelings for one another," he placed as soft kiss to her mouth, _I_ put that ring on your finger. _You_ said yes."

She met him in a deeper kiss and brought an arm around his neck as she changed their angle in order to begin Operation Straddle Crane.

"Dearest," he muttered against her lips. "We can sleep." He ran his hands up her back, pressing her closer as she rose up on her knees to gain leverage. "I won't mind, I only woke you to - mmmmm," he moaned, accepting the fall and slide of her tongue against his. "To express . . . I apologize," he whispered even as her hips began a barely detectable rock that threatened to arouse him. "At this hour it was terribly selfish. You needn't feel obligated on my account."

"I don't," she whispered as she let her hips become less subtle and guided his hands beneath her shirt. "Choice is the theme of the night, yeah? I choose to have sleepy ' love you' sex." She chuckled softly, kissed his cheek and widened her straddle to offer more friction. "I know it's not ambitious," she whispered as she cradled is face in her hands. "I just like us together."

She felt him grow between her legs and pushed against the clothed hardness while she brought him into a long series of soft, shallow kisses. "Besides, aren't you planning a hell of a night for us in two weeks?" She nipped his lip and brushed the tip of her tongue over his. "Isn't that your grand plan?"

He nodded, lifting up his arms so she could pull off his shirt, followed by her own.

She dismounted and shimmied out of her underwear. "We'll make up for it then."

She prompted him to scoot to the edge of the bed and make enough room between his legs for her to kneel.

He drew in a long breath and his head lolled back as she undid his pants and ghosted tiny tingling kisses all over his torso. "I love you so much," he said as he let the breath out, indeed too tired to care about or object to the prospect of quick, no frills sex.

When she had him out of the pants she crawled back between his legs and ran her warm tongue over the inside of his thighs in small strokes as she moved forward.

He clutched the edge of the mattress when she pressed her tongue flat against his base and drew up, sliding her mouth down on him without pause when she reached the tip.

"You are lovely," he whispered, his voice quaking as he watched her.

She stayed at it for only a few moments before crawling back into his lap. Rather than allow her to take and ride him, Ichabod lifted her at the waist and settled them both across the bed at an angle.

"What?" Abbie chuckled as he gazed down at her in total silence.

The silent gaze continued for a few more seconds before he replied. "Two weeks" He swept his hand over the base of her throat, her breast, and down the curve of her hips. He hissed as he entered her, met with more pressure than usual because he'd nothing to prepare or further wet her (though she was aroused enough to welcome and encourage him deeper). "Two weeks and we are made complete."

Abbie moaned softly and looped her arms beneath his, running her hands over the long, lithe muscles of his back as they tensed and released in response to his movement.

The rhythmic, gentle roll of his body as he worked slowly inside her.

He ducked down to kiss a light trail from the flesh beneath her earlobe to the contours of her face, sighing against her flesh as he went. Though the encounter was mellow, his flesh still shivered when she answered each sigh.

The familiar dull ache began to consolidate and build in his rigid length, made more intense when Abbie's feet began to slide up his legs from his calves to as far up as she could go before hoisting over his narrow hips. She whined quietly and gripped his shoulder blades when he sped his pace from a gentle rocking to a deeper thrust. She wasn't even aware of his hand between their bodies until his fingers swept through her, dipping brieflu inside her before settling at her clit with a stroke that alternated between firm and gentle.

She shuddered, lifting her hips to meet his every approach while trying to think of something to say in response to the sweet sentiments that came so naturally to him. Her wanderings must have shown in her expression because suddenly his face was low over hers, the back of his hands stroking her cheek.

"Just be here, Abbie." he whispered. "I need you here."

His breath hitched when the slight clutch of her walls grew closer.

"I need you here, it's all I need . . . "

He began to flick his thumb over her clit and sped his thrust as he repeated the words over and over,

"It's all I need,

It's all I need,

It's all I need."

The quiet call of a person desiring nothing more than to be the sole focus of their lover's attention. His body warmed and his length strained when he saw and felt her return from whatever thought had taken her away.

A shiver hummed through her core. It felt to him like a delicate caress encouraging his release.

"Cum," she asked in a quiet, mewling voice as her breath shallowed and quickened. "Please Crane."

He worked at her clit until another shudder coursed through the wet muscle surrounding him, and they both gasped softly as he came.

It was sex stripped down to basics, but it gave them what they needed. They fell asleep minutes later, still sprawled sideways.

Life went on as usual in the following days. A soul eating demon. A possession. A non corporeal once human serial killer spirit. Your typical Apocalypse Posse workweek. Max and Katrina insisted they would take care of sending the killer back to hell so Ichabod and Abbie could go home and relax for a while.

Ichabod drove.

"Are you serious?" He muttered, leaning over the steering wheel and slowing down as they trundled down the long driveway. There was an unfamiliar car parked in front of the cabin, and a tall woman with frizzy blonde hair tied up in a bandana leaning against the trunk.

"Ha-HA!" He smacked the steering wheel and brought the car to a screeching halt.

_I think we're in Simon Land now, _thought Abbie as she got out of the car and her fiancée sprinted toward the woman.

"How the hell did you track me down?!"

"How dare you not email me about the move!" She pointed to the cabin.

Simon laughed and the two shared a robust bear hug.

"Oh please," Simon scoffed._ "Email. _We never email, we just dive bomb in for a visit once every two or three years."

"Yeah, well when I went to your old place and a pregnant lady answered the door I was totally thrilled for you for two seconds before her husband showed up. Anyhow, I called your friend Tyler and he have me your new address, caught me up on stuff - and this is officially not a visit!" She jumped back and punched him in the arm. "This is a freakin' pilgrimage. I had to meet the miracle woman!" She turned to Abbie. "You must be Abbie." She grinned.

"Uh . . . " Abbie smiled. "Yeah."

"I'm Pamela, and woman you must have magical powers if you got Mister Simon West to move faster than a snail with a fifty pound shell."

Abbie wagged her eyebrows at Simon. "Magical powers honey. Now you know."

"It's your fault I'm like this!" He cried in Pamela's general direction.

She cleared her throat. "That reminds me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She ticked off on her fingers as she went. "That's it right? We're down to five?"

"Indeed," Simon replied with a smirk.

"Woohoo!" Pamela threw her fist in the air like a victorious boxer. "Past the midway point!"

The two were so jovial, Abbie couldn't help but be entertained despite her absolute cluelessness. "I am missing a ton of backstory here, guys. Who wants to let a girl know what's up?"

Simon gave Pamela a sidelong glare. "It all began when she deflowered then abandoned me."

Pamela shook her head and sighed. "We were sixteen and we just _knew_ we were soulmates -"

Both shuddered at the utterance of the word.

"So three days into our 'relationship'" she made air quotes. "We're screwing like rabbits, naming our future kids, and having deep, dead serious talks about whether we want to buy a house in England after we graduate to be near his family, or the States to be near my family."

"Or both," Simon chimed in. "I believe dual citizenship was discussed as an option? Anyhow, it was all very profound and googley eyed."

Pamela took back the narrative. "Four months later I applied to this intense three year international program to study archeology and prehistoric anthropology - like, by the time you're eighteen you're going on digs and stuff, it's that intense."

"And you got accepted, so you dumped him and took off." Abbie finished for her, as it seemed the obvious ending.

"Uh . . . nnnnnnooooooooo," she mumbled, toeing the dirt.

Simon took over while Pamela toed. "We swore our eternal devotion, planned to visit at every chance, and as soon as I graduated we'd start our perfect lives together. For the first few months we emailed almost daily." He paused. "And then what happened, _Pamela?"_

She sagged with a self - deprecating groan. "Once I got away from our teen-brain dreamland, I pretty much realized it was bullshit, but instead of nutting up and dumping him I just . . . took longer and longer to respond to his emails until . . . I . . . stopped."

Simon smirked. "Leaving behind a pitiful pile of devestated,sixteen year old boy." He turned to Abbie again. "I must have sent dozens of emails begging to know if she'd met someone else, or she was just too busy to stay in touch, or . . . " he tried not to let a full on smile break loose and ruin his admonishing tone. "Thus began my pattern of extreme hesitance in relationships."

Pamela pointed to her face with both hands. "Shitty. Shittiest ever."

Abbie's eyes shot back and forth between the two of them, baffled. "Aaaaannnd yet you seem to be buddies now."

Pamela grinned, glad to be moving out of the 'I'm an asshole' part of the tale. "I was at a dig in Nairobi and there was this team of wildlife preservationists monitoring an elephant population not three miles away from our site, so we all kinda socialized and by pure coincidence," she pointed to Simon, who raised his hand.

"I was on the team."

"Yup," Pamela nodded. "And how I treated him was the worst thing I've ever done in my life, so as soon as I recognized him I ran over, apologized, and begged, begged, _begged_ him to forgive me."

"After a good deal of yelling I told her she owed me a huge pile of apologies. I believe I stopped her at twenty five. Thereafter we settled on a dozen and decided just for shits and giggles that in future she would owe me one less apology each time she swung in for a visit."

"Here endeth the saga!" Pamela said with a deep bow. She was on her way back up when she froze and her eyes bugged out. "You're engaged!" She yelled, leaping upright, her body gripped by an ecstatic spasm of shock. "Oh my God, Abbie! You're like . . . beyond a miracle!"

"Oh this?" Abbie wiggled her ring finger. "No, I just really like topaz so Simon got me -"

"No way," Pamela shook her head. "I know a non traditional engagement ring when I see one, I fucking _wore one_ for six months." She held up a hand to stop Simon from asking. "Long. Annoying. Story. I'll tell you over . . . how do you feel about pizza? What's good around here?" She looked at Abbie. "You're welcome to come along."

Abbie grinned. After a week steeped in the Apocalypse, Pamela was like a breath of _really excited_ air. "Thanks, but you two'll just be catching up, talking about a lotta of people I don't know, so . . . anyway I've got a bunch of paperwork to catch up on." (Not a lie. Cop dramas always skip over the epic fuckton of paperwork involved in being a cop.)

"K, well I gotta go check into a hotel and get settled, how about . . . lunch at threeish, you pick the place."

They exchanged contact information and said their goodbyes and as soon as they entered the house Abbie sat down at the table ready to take on paperwork. She had two breaking and entering forms filled out before she realized Simon was in the living room pacing and muttering. (She assumed it was Simon. She was almost never wrong on a guess.)

"Y'okay?"

After a moment's hesitation, he approached and stood in front of her as if to present a formal speech.

"Um . . . you may want to rethink not accompanying us."

Abbie frowned. "Why, does she throw herself at you?"

"No! No no, she would never!" He paused, every muscle in his face clenched with awkwardness. "But we do always seem to end up in bed at some point."

Abbie gave him a confused look and drummed the edge of her notepad on the table. "And you're worried it'll happen again, even with -" she held up her ring finger.

Simon shook his head. "I'm am completely, totally certain that it won't."

She shrugged. "Okay, so why do you want the supervision?"

"Because I'm _always_ completely, totally certain it won't happen again," he whined in frustration. "So is she!"

"Who starts it?"

"We can never tell!" He threw up his hands and went back to pacing. "It's like someone throws magical sex dust on us and off we go! It's not sad 'what could have been' sex, and it's implicitly understood that neither of us intends it as the start of something." He stopped and raked a hand through his hair. "It all ends in a laugh and a hug and a firm declaration that it absolutely will not happen on her next visit."

"And then it does?"

"Every goddamn time." Simon said with a nod. "Except once."

Abbie shrugged. "So it can be done."

"She was called away suddenly, her Grandmother died."

Abbie groaned and put her head in her hands, for the first time truly concerned that Ichabod's and Simon's lives may not mesh so well. Then a thought dawned on her that made it even worse.

"You had no choice," she muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Remember the conversation Ichabod and I had about how he _chose_ this and I _chose_ that? You didn't."

"What the hell does that matter?" Simon yelled. "I loved you from the moment you first kissed -"

"Because of _Ichabod's_ feelings. If you'd been Hoover vac'd into, I dunno, Kim Lee's body, what then? Would you be straight or gay? All about animals or all about leather carving? Or would you bounce all over the place?"

"It's not as if I was hypnotized!" Simon's face was beginning to redden. "What does it matter if nothing about me conflicted with Ichabod's feelings with regard to you? There are plenty of other points at which my preference has overridden -"

"If you mention the eggplant again, I will rage!" Abbie said firmly, her finger pointed at him to convey her own growing annoyance,

"My point is," Simon tried to explain, "the man I was before would of course never have chosen to fuse his entire consciousness to another person, but I am so glad," he fell before Abbie, who turned her body toward him. He took her hands tightly in his as if she might slip over a cliff if he didn't hold on, and laid ardent kisses to the back of each. "I am so indescribably glad for my situation. To have you. To have," he ran his thumb over her diamond-less engagement ring on the verge of tears. "I would not give this up for the world."

"But you'd give it up to nail Pamela?"

"God!" He stood up with a growl. "It is an _entrenched pattern,_ Abbie, and our most distinctive traits are the ones most likely to win out over the other! As I said, I am sure even at this moment that nothing inappropriate will occur, but I have been wrong every time previous! That's why I asked you to come along! So that whatever the hell it is that sparks off this ridiculous habit of ours has no chance of re-surfacing."

Abbie took a beat to absorb all the details.

It was a long pause that left Simon twisting with worry.

"Has it ever happened while you were in a relationship?" Her stomach twisted into painful knots when Simon grimaced.

"Serious or just dating?" He asked.

"Oh my God!" Abbie leapt from her chair, almost knocking it over, and stalked into the living room. "So what about the girls you weren't _seriously_ dating? Did you confess? Break up with them?"

"Girl," he said, avoiding her eyes. "It only happened once. And neither. Pamela has no bearing on my day to day life, and the woman and I weren't serious enough to . . . she ended things with me a few weeks later over an unrelated issue."

"What, did another bang-buddy ex come to town?"

"That is completely unfair!" Simon bellowed and stomped to the living room, officially furious. "One! I confess _one_ ex to be an anomaly in in my life, and you assume I was so flippant in general?!" voice shook as the rant continued. "That the Simon before Ichabod must have been a thoughtless two timing ass?! I wanted you to know what the man I was before would have done because regardless of my confidence -" he grit his teeth again. Hard. "I refuse to allow my own ego to pose even a minuscule risk to us, and now I stand before this, this . . . _firing squad!"_

Abbie's skin got so hot she thought she might explode. "EXCUSE ME?"

"Well what would you call it?!" Simon walked behind the couch as if wanting to place a physical barrier between them. "We've gone from arguing about Pamela to my character in general! And I, I," he began to sputter, "I was HONEST about this! I could've taken my usual gamble and left you here ignorant! What would that have said about my character?!"

Abbie crossed her arms, still pissed but uncertain how to respond.

For a long moment the two glared at one another on silence. Finally, Simon closed his eyes and sighed.

"We can't risk it. Ichabod and I." He pulled his phone from his pants pocket. "If I'm asking for a damn chaperone it's clearly a bad idea."

"No," Abbie said quietly. She frowned and her head cocked to the side. "No, it's a good idea."

"Um . . . were you paying attention to that spectacular row?"

She shrugged. "Like you said, the thing with Simon and Pamela _always_ happens."

"Yes."

She chewed her lip. "Both of you have absorbed one another's traits on the big stuff. And at the end of the day . . . "

Simon waited patiently for her to continue, hovering between anxiety and hope.

"At the end of the day you actually didn't fall in love with me. You just got shoved into Ichabod's skin and," she snapped her fingers. "Like that."

"It doesn't mat -"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I know. It is what it is and it's not like I don't believe you, but at least at first it was a default feeling."

_I'm still confused._

"How does that make it a good idea for Pamela and I to -"

"Test drive." Abbie replied simply. "Or I'll never be sure if what we have now can stand up to who Simon was before."

Simon walked slowly back around the couch as Abbie spoke. He was starting to see her thought process.

"If even dating someone couldn't break the Simon-and-Pamela pattern for you, then it's big fucking deal. The perfect test drive."

By then she and Simon were standing close enough to touch, so Simon took her hands and held them gently.

_Let's see if I have this right._

"So if I pass it proves . . . well, I don't have any previous deep loves, but let's pretend I did, and I used to pine for her before joining with Ichabod. If _that woman_ were to come to town wanting me back, we'd know Simon's previous feelings can't hurt us because I do now genuinely love you on my own merit? Yes?"

Abbie smiled, the angry heat in her body mellowed to the warmth of a cozy blanket. "If the way you feel about m stops you from doing something Simon's always done?" She shrugged and her smile grew wider. "I can marry you."

An unspoken question played shamefully over his features.

_What if I fail?_

As always, he was 99.9% certain he'd pass but well, _history._

Abbie read his face and pursed her lips, trying to sidestep her own anxiety. "That's another conversation."

Ichabod roared to life. _Ruin this for us and I will hurl our body off a cliff!_

Abbie stepped close and gave his arms a squeeze. "Now you're gonna take a breath, and I'm gonna take a breath, and you are gonna have awesome pizza with your teenage twu wuv - who I do really like by the way."

He squinted at her, dubious. "A woman I've confessed to sleeping with literally every time she visited and you're still inclined to like her?"

Abbie scoffed as she returned to her paperwork. "Pft! I am not gonna be that dumbass bitch who lets her man off the hook but decides the other woman is a hoe." She sat down and gave him the sweetest, wifely-est smile she could. "If she's a hoe then so are you, baby."

He smiled back at her and bowed. "I appreciate your candor."

Abbie tried not to let it nag at her, but in the back of her mind a small whisper of concern refused to shut up.

_This may be the stupidest decision you ever made._

A few hours later she was seeing him off to his lunch date.

_STUPIDEST, STUPIDEST, STUPIDEST!_

She and Simon stood on the porch as he checked his texts one last time to make sure Pamela knew where to meet him,

"You stipulated that I conduct myself exactly as I would have before Ichabod, with the exception of sex, yes?"

"Uh-huh." Abbie paused for a moment then rolled her eyes. "What, do you usually do hands stuff under the table while you're chatting?"

Simon chuckled. "No. But we do usually spend hours and hours catching up - even absent the sex bit." He cleared his throat. "If I did the same this visit I'd be coming home six, maybe even seven 'o clock. I thought under the circumstances you might prefer . . . ?"

"Nope," she chirped casually, shaking her head. "Everything the same. I gotta know. And you won't be able to lie if anything does happen because if nothing Crane would rat your ass out."

And off he went.

Abbie promised herself she would keep her cool in the meantime.

Five minutes later she texted Jenny, Kat, Frank, Max, and Kim Lee. 'NEED DISTRACTION, ALL AVAILABLE ASSES, GET HERE ASAP!'

Kat and Kim Lee were the first to show up, bearin Chinese takeout.

"For the record, I'm Korean," Kim Lee specified as he stepped over the threshold and headed for the kitchen to unpack the food. "So don't be askin' me any stupid questions about Chinese culture." He opened one of the containers and sniffed. "Or Korean culture, actually. Call my my grandparents if you wanna know that shit - do you wanna have this on plates or out of the carton?"

Abbie was already becoming distracted from her worry.

_I love you Kim Lee,_ she thought. _Take away the swish and I would totally marry you._

"Cartons are fine."

_I'm already marrying two dudes, what's one more?_

She knew Max would come, but she honestly figured Jenny and Frank wouldn't show up. Frank had a daughter to spend time with and Jenny had a compulsive need to eat, breath, and shit the Apocalypse to the extent that she might as well expand the archives room to add on an entertainment center and a nice breakfast nook.

They pulled kitchen chairs into the living room, pillows from the bed and linen closet. It felt a lot like the giggly, carefree sleepovers she and Jenny never got the chance to enjoy.

She and Jenny exchanged a brief look, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing.

_So this is what it's like._

"Okay," Jenny said through a mouthful of sweet and sour pork, perched and hunched over on the back of a chair. "Why are we here?"

"More specifically," Frank pitched in from his pillow on the floor. "Why were we ordered to parachute in via the urgent beacon of all caps? The font of anger and/or emotional distress?"

_I need more Spicy Chicken before I answer that._

She made them all wait while she finished her morsel.

"I basically sent Ichabod out on a date. Well, not so much Ichabod as Sim -" Abbie, Jenny, and Frank froze and tried not to look at Kim Lee, which meant Kim Lee could tell he was being TOTALLY NOT STARED AT.

"It's okay," he said as he popped a lone cashew into his mouth. "I'm in Kat's coven, that's how we met." He gave Kat and Max a half offended scowl. "You didn't tell them that?"

"I kept forgetting," Kat sighed as she reached out to squeeze Kim Lee's chopstick wielding hand. "You're a really crap witch, sweetheart."

"I know. It _extra_ sucks 'cause I'm from a whole bloodline of magic mofos." He pointed to himself. "So I'm the relative ALL the others juuuuuust don't talk about."

Everyone gave him 'you poor baby' looks.

"It's okay. They're not mean or anything but between that and my," he indicated his hair, bracelets and general queerness. "None of them can get their heads around, like, anything going on here."

Abbie found it soothing to sit back and listen to conversation as it meandered away from her (possibly stupid) decision. Hours went by, and hints of deep gold began to tickle the horizon.

Abbie mostly listened to everyone chatter while Kat and Kim Lee tool turns playing with her hair.

"I - mmff," Max finished his bit of broccoli before continuing. "I was a badass holding that portal open long enough for Kat to do the incantation and toss what's his face back to hell."

He fished through Kat's takeout container without asking.

Kat did the same to him. "Ripping open a closed portal and holding it open is like a metaphysical arm wrestle. It was his first time ever taking on that much pushback without any help." She beamed at Max as she stuffed a too-large bite of garlicky beef into her mouth.

"I wish I'd taken pictures." said Frank. "Actually I should start keeping a photo-journal. Of _all_ this shit!"

"You seriously sent Ichabod on a date?" Asked Jenny, taking a sharp turn back to their original topic. "Funny, smart, pretty-eyed Ichabod?"

"And he's on this side of the pond," Frank added, "so the accent alone does half the work for him."

Jenny sat baffled. "And it was _your_ idea?" She pointed to Kat with her chopsticks. "Can you check her pupils and tell me if they're either dilated or super tiny? Smart money says she's high."

Abbie laughed as Kat leaned close to her face with an amused grin. She let the 'examination' continue for a brief second before pushing the woman away. "It's an ex of Simon's, and we're . . . test driving. We wanna make sure full-on Simon wants to marry me, and it's not just the I-feel-what-Crane-feels thing."

Max raised his hand. "Hey, instead of hurling him at a possibly available vagina stuffed with dangerous history, you coulda called me up for a three second conversation. 'Yes, Simon loves loves loves you.' End of test drive."

"Then why would said vagina be a problem in the first place?" asked Frank, beginning to swing around to Abbie's way of thinking.

Max pointed his chopsticks at Frank, but spoke to the small audience in general. "Because 75% of married couples cheat at some point, and it's just _not possible_ that so many people are flat out douche bags, which means that even The Good Ones are not immune to full on, flat out, straight up, what the fuck, stoopid."

_I do not get long term relationships,_ thought Jenny.

"Uh . . . you're okay hearing your man say something like that?" she asked Kat.

Kat poked Max in the side with her chopstick. "If either if us is ever unfaithful we have a one week window in which confessing to the other won't result in an automatic break up."

"Possible break up depending on circumstance," Max added. "But not automatic. After the one week is up, though -"

"We're fucked." They finished at the same time.

Frank mulled over the Max and Kat's rule. "Huh. You two are either doomed, or rock solid."

None of them had heard a car drive up, so they were all surprised when Simon came bursting through the door.

"Clear out." He ordered, not looking at anyone but Abbie as he marched across the room and attacked her mouth as though there weren't five people around them scrambling to close take out containers and hustle out the door.

By the time the last of them left, Abbie was reduced to panting in those brief moments when he pulled back enough to allow them both air.

"This is either, mmmmm - a guilty kiss bec - mm, mm - because you failed, or - mmmmmmmm, a victory kiss."

"Victory kiss," Simon gasped as he hoisted her in the air. "There was not so much as a skirmish between myself and Ichabod - and we agreed he would stay far back and quiet to keep so I'd -" he strode toward the bedroom but got derailed by a wall.

_Why do we have walls?_

"So I'd be on my own."

"And nothing?" Abbie whimpered against his mouth as he worked frantically to unbutton her shirt one handed. "Not even a goodbye kiss?"

"No," he replied as he nuzzled and kissed her throat, basking in the feel of her rapid pulse on his lips."Massive goodbye hug as always, not the _slightest_ temptation for more." He thrust a knee between her legs to keep her propped up and pressed to the wall as they worked together to remove her shirt.

Then his.

Abbie tossed his shirt well clear of their bodies so he wouldn't slip on it, as they were wobbling and unsteady to begin with.

"Abbie," he rasped, head thrown back so she could drag her mouth over the contours of his throat and shoulders. Her adventurous tongue did wonderful things, and his whole body felt starved for more. The urgency was more than just lust. He'd cleared the final hurdle. That last lingering shadow of a question mark was eradicated, leaving nothing in its wake but an unhindered path to life with Abbie.

Everything fell away from his mind but a vision of them together. Smiling at one another, and steadily older and older.

He felt her legs slide up his waist as he lifted her higher, so her head was above his and he had easy access to the whole landscape of her midsection.

He moaned and whispered her name against the flesh of each part.

Her fleshy belly.

Fit abs.

Soft, enticing breasts.

All the while feeling her fingers rake through his hair. Caress his face. Grip his shoulders.

"Simon," she whispered. At first it spurred him on._ "Simon."_

Then he realized from the flat pressure of her hands at his shoulders that she was prompting a halt.

"What?" He asked worriedly as he lowered her to the ground.

She swept her hands down his chest, her expression troubled. "I do understand us. You. The both of you. But . . ."

A part of he and Ichabod's joined souls sensed an invisible fist poised to close around them both and crush an entire future. Still, he held steady and tried not to betray their fear, loathe to let a sympathy or guilt impulse dictate Abbie's next words.

_She'll say what she needs to say, _both men thought in harmony. _And you will not muzzle her._

Her hands rested at his hips as she stared up at him. "I'm used to looking at this face and calling you either Ichabod or Simon." She chuckled softly, nuzzling his chest and placing a light kiss to his collarbone. "I can even tell when you're in that oddball halfway space. But switching between names when we're researching or eating breakfast is different than switching names when we're . . . _together. _It feels weird. Are you following me?" She looked worried. "Am I just blathering here?"

Both Simon and Ichabod flooded with enormous relief. Abbie had seemed so hesitant and worried that given the events of the day they were braced for another catastrophe.

"How about this," Simon pecked a chaste kiss to her lips, his one hand at her waist in a manner reminiscent of her first kiss with Ichabod. "At least when we are making love . . ." he kissed her again, this time lingering, "the name 'Crane' can be a unilateral identifier?"

"You'd be okay with that?"

Simon smiled. "I've noticed that though you often call him Ichabod in the course of a day, during sex, particularly in climax, you almost always use the name Crane. It's the name you're most comfortable with. The one you're accustomed to calling out when . . . " he locked his eyes on hers as his fingers danced over the button and zipper of her pants.

He saw the worry drain from her eyes and met no resistance when he undid her pants and used the open fabric like reigns to steer them to the bedroom.

It was the longest walk possible over a tiny span of space. Between traveling, undressing, and the overwhelming urge to paw at one another as though they'd just gotten engaged that second, the journey was several times interrupted by a graceless stumble into a wall, or whatever furniture had the poor manners to get in their way. Every time it happened one or the other (or both) of them seized the chance to _truly_ devour the other for a moment. Clutching and lunging, hands diving beneath pants and underthings to gradually hitch them down as well as win fleeting contact with their mutual arousal.

Wet. Hard. A physical reality so damn unlikely and mutually fought for.

By the time they tumbled to their destination there lay a path of clothes behind them, beginning with a puddle of shirts in the living room, and ending with simple black panties dropped just at the foot of the bed. Added in with the displaced lamp stands and fallen knick knacks, it formed a record of events. Like tree rings radiating out from the center point of _them._

The sex had always been good (even when it was your basic 'I just need to connect' variety), but Abbie couldn't remember the last time she'd _craved_ or pursued his body with such a primal lust. It felt like something derived from genetic memory. A time before the rules of so - called civilized conduct seeped into and altered even the most basic of human interactions.

Sex without rule. Without etiquette. A sweating, grunting, old as earth performance played out on a stage as big as all life.

Despite the fact that the actual ceremony wasn't for another six days she knew in her bones when she came, and as she watched him cum, that it was the first time _The Cranes _ever had sex.


	12. For Better Or Worse

**And here it is. I hope I did it justice. :-) **

***NOTE: there's a bit at the end of this chapter titled 'epilogue,' and I've gotten a few messages from people who thought I meant an epilogue on the whole series. I actually just meant it in reference to this chapter. I've got a few more up my sleeve ;-)**

**Actually, I've figured out how I want to end this series, and while I haven't fleshed out the details of how we're getting to the endpoint I'm pretty sure it won't take *another* 12 chapters. Probably 4 or 5. And I'll be REALLY CLEAR about it when I do post the final chapter.**

**In the meantime I am still having buckets of fun writing this series, and you guys see still freakin' awesome readers! Thanks!**

After a long, long day of Regular Cop Life, Abbie was finally heading home. Bad day. Terrible. The kind of day that made her question her life choices.

_I just had to be a cop. Enforce the law upon non - law abiders. Goooooood call._

Ichabod met her at the door when she arrived home, and his brilliant blue eyes flooded with empathy the moment he saw her.

"Oh my goodness."

"Yeah, first," she dropped her black duffel bag on the floor, sidestepped Ichabod and headed for the couch. "A drunk and disorderly. Charming woman who resisted arrest, got tequila all over my uniform and puked on me." She sighed and fopped down in the couch, arm slung over her eyes as if just looking at the world was exhausting. "But y'know, it happens. So I washed off when we got to the station and headed out again."

Ichabod lifted her legs to sit beneath them.

"A few hours later - I won't go into the details - but I had to chase a suspect down an alley and ended up getting tossed into a pile of garbage. Really pungent garbage. Then a nearby homeless man helped me up and gave me a big hug, and not that it's his fault, but he reeked of body odor. So there's trip two back to the station. She held two fingers in the air. Because I'm apparently the dumbest woman in Sleepy Hollow I turned down Luke's offer to cover my beat for the rest of the day." She flashed Ichabod a huge smile.

_Even her teeth look annoyed._

"Which brings us to the icing on the giant shit cake that was my day. Domestic disturbance. The guy - really big guy, steroid bunny big, manages to get my gun away from me, tackle me to the ground, and you're - oh you'll love this one -"

"Did he attempt to shoot you?" Ichabod gasped.

"Nope," Abbie shook her head. "He straddled me, whipped it out -"

"Sexual attack?!"

"PEE!" she finished with a mock triumphant flourish. "The man peed on me. And not a little pee either." She huffed. "The thing is, discharging a weapon is always a last option so Officer Williams just tried like hell to pull the dude off me, but he shook Williams off like a bug and just keeeeeept on pissin'."

I . . . I . . . oh, sweetheart . . . "

"He even got my face. In the hair, up my nose, the works. I know I'm probably inviting trouble here, but I'm just gonna say it," she threw her hands up. "I miss demons. I don't know if they're giving us a break for our wedding or whatever, but I will help you piece that obnoxious disintegrated parchment thing together tonight. It sounds _relaxing."_

Ichabod shook his head. "You say that now. Most of the pieces are so tiny and the image so faded, It's like trying to assemble a 5,000 piece puzzle of a starless night sky." His face lit up with a sudden idea. "No parchment. Not tonight. "You," he stood up and hoisted her to her feet.

"Noooooooo," Abbie whined.

Ichabod smiled softly and got behind her, rubbing her shoulders, "you are going to take a nice hot shower -"

"I already showered at the station, but thanks."

"Nonono," Ichabod insisted as he began steering her body toward the hallway, still massaging her shoulders. "That was a 'getting clean' shower. This shall be a 'just to relax' shower. " He laid several kisses to the top of her head. "Take as long as you'd like, I don't care if you use our last drop of hot water. Then join me on the back porch for wine and a beautiful sunset."

"Mmmmmmmmmm," Abbie released a long sigh that lasted the last few steps until they reached the bathroom door. "We should get married." She smiled, finally starting to put some distance between her mood and her terrible day.

Ichabod drew his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. "I'm free the day after tomorrow," he mumbled against her skin, his breath warm and soothing. "You hop in, I'll fetch you night clothes and a robe."

I totally win the Husband Lottery. Abbie thought as she turned on the water and adjusted the temperature to her liking. She'd just pulled the curtain closed behind her when she heard Ichabod walk in.

_What took you so long?_

"Dearest, I'm in a quandary."

_About pjs?_

Abbie pulled back the shower curtain.

"The considerate side of me wants you in this." He held forth her cozy red flannels. "The selfish side of me wants you in this." He held up her black silk neglige. "Though I believe you'll look grand in either one, so pick as you please."

She chewed her bottom lip and flashed a playful smile.

_It's not an uncomfortable neglige . . . it's almost like a black silk sundress now that I think of it._

"Gimmie the silk." she said after a moment.

"Are you sure?" Ichabod wanted to assure himself that she wasn't doing him a favor.

She leaned forward and met him halfway for a little peck on the mouth.

"Yup."

He stepped back and bowed in gentlemanly fashion. "As the lady wishes." He gave her one last tiny kiss. "Enjoy your shower."

By the time she emerged from the shower the bathroom was filled with steam, the mirror entirely fogged over.

Ichabod wasn't on the porch. He was in the middle of the yard standing next to a blanket holding two glasses of wine. One was reasonably full, the other full practically to the brim.

"Guess which one is yours," said Ichabod with a cheeky smile.

Before she took the fully loaded glass from his hand she leaned forward and slurped down enough to be sure the transition between his hand and hers wouldn't cause a spill.

"It's Shiraz," he informed her as she took her first soothing sip. "Just your standard grocery store variety, but I am enough of a wine snob to purchase their best. I've this winery has yet to let me down." He indicated the bottle situated next to the blanket.

_Amavi Cellars._

"I would have included a cheese platter or or strawberries but all we have on hand is plain cheddar and one apple." He took a sip from his glass and grinned. "So I'll just have to settle for getting you drunk."

She chuckled as they sat down.

He guided her to use him as a comfy chair, arranging his legs on either side of of her. She took the hint and leaned back against his chest.

A long silence passed while they gazed at the sky, a show of brilliant purples and oranges bleeding into one another.

"The fuzzy robe clashed with the black silk," Abbie said, breaking the silence to explain her thin, pale blue robe - also silk.

"Hm." Ichabod sipped his wine. "I doubt I'd have minded the clash."

She giggled and elbowed him playfully, careful not to disturb his wine glass. "Men are not complicated creatures."

He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. "I am," he mused. "Terribly complicated."

Abbie frowned and swiveled her upper body around far enough to look him in the eyes. "You sound introspective."

"I did not mean to." he assured her, a little too insistently.

_You idiot bastard!_ He scolded himself.

"This is your time to relax, we needn't discuss serious matters."

She raised an eyebrow. "There's something serious?"

_Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!_

"Truly, we needn't -"

"Now I'm gonna worry if you don't tell me."

Ichabod drew and released a long breath. "Are you sure you want to marry into this mess?" He indicated his head.

Abbie shrugged. "It's not so complicated."

"You and Max are the only ones who think so." He said with a sigh as he sipped his wine.

Abbie smiled. "Jenny gets a migraine every time I try to explain you." She cleared her throat as if to present an official speech. "Her: 'So is he one guy or two guys?' Me: 'Yes.' And then she gives me that look like I'm weird even by her standards."

"And you're sure you want to take on this . . . situation?"

She shrugged again. "One soul, two sets of memories, and various minor changes here and there," she replied as if rattling off answers to a quiz. "Like the eggplant thing."

He smirked. "How come you're allowed to bring up my Simon - derived love of eggplant, yet I get scolded at the mention?"

Abbie returned his smirk like a tennis volley. "And you make me awesome waffles. Max says that's a big thing with Simon. Waffles."

Ichabod nodded and took a beat to savor another sip of wine, letting then layered flavors roll over his tongue. "Then on Simon's end, he had no aptitude for languages before me. It's a damn good thing my mind overrode him in that respect or matters such as this parchment debacle would be . . . " he couldn't even imagine the horror. "I think it boils down to souls. Simon and I are fused far beyond the point of sharing a mind. We often can't sort one's memories from the other - I told you about our brief confusion regarding Randy, didn't I?"

"Yes," Abbie nodded. "It was the first example you gave me."

"And it made sense to you?" Ichabod had trouble believing anyone not living in the whirlpool that was his mind could possibly make sense of it.

"Seems pretty straightforward," she replied as she took a deep breath of evening air.

"We are both capable of allowing the other more room when it seems appropriate." said Ichabod. "But we spend most of our time as a melded entity."

_I really do get it, baby._

Abbie smiled softly and gave his leg a squeeze, hoping the gesture would communicate her understanding.

But he went on. "You and Max grasped without much effort something that should be incomprehensible to anyone not living in . . ." he indicated his own head. "Abbie, Jenny's reaction? Her inability to tell who's who and when, much less when we are present in tandem? It is clearly the _normal_ reaction." He paused. "But there is a crucial difference between you and Jenny."

"I'm not terrifying?" Abbie guessed.

Ichabod chuckled and stroked her cheek. "She is not my soulmate. And the bond between Simon and Max may not be romantic, but they are bound at the soul. A soul now shared within my person. You both intuitively understood us as separate men, and the connection remains unaffected by our freakish circumstances." Ichabod raised his glass and took a generous sip. "That is my theory."

"Hm. Good theory." Abbie turned around and went back to leaning against her man/chair.

They swayed softly and watched as the last of the evening hues became fully matured night sky. The automatic porch lights offered just enough glow for them to see their surroundings.

"Mmmmmm," Abbie purred into her wineglass. "This really is good wine." She enjoyed several generous sips before giving Ichabod a playful slap on the knee. "So. Crane. Is there anything else I should know about you? Y'know before I marry your 'unique situation'?"

_Say. Nothing. Not. A. Word. Stare. At. Sky._

"No," he replied with just enough hesitation to tip off his almost wife. "Nothing important."

This time she turned all the way around and set her wineglass carefully on the ground. She had a gut feeling that things were more serious than their first point of discussion revealed.

"If it's important," she assured him softly. "We've always trusted each other with everything. That can't stop."

Ichabod stared at his wineglass, upset that his plan to pamper and sooth Abbie had gone awry because of his own bullshit.

"Remember how we assumed Simon and I fit together with so little conflict of situation because divine will _tricked Malphus_ into selecting Simon? As a counterattack against his move in the hopes that when you . . . 'resurrected' me I guess would be the right term . . . I could exist alongside him and remain sane?"

Mm-hm," Abbie frowned. Ichabod was fidgeting with the grass and making only fleeting eye contact with her. It made her nervous.

"I knew right away it wasn't true entirely." He paused, forcing himself to plow through the easy stuff and get to the parts he'd never intended to tell her. The ugly parts. "I believe - I believed from the beginning - that mine and Simon's compatibility was not a divine _response_ to Malphus's plan to be rid of me." He stopped avoiding eye contact and fixed his gaze on her. "Abbie, our side - the forces of good - _manipulated_ Malphus into trying to eradicate me in the first place, thus setting him up to then choose Simon of all people."

Abbie frowned. "You think the Good Guys decided to shove a whole other person in your head? And his? Rob you both of your own bodies?"

Even in the dim light, Abbie could see real distress etched on Ichabod's features. She scooted as close to him as she could get, and gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

"I was losing myself already," he whispered. "My will to fight."

"What?" Abbie was shocked. Nothing about him had seemed out of sorts before Simon. "You didn't -"

"Seem like it? No." He let out a self recriminating scoff. "I like to think I haven't many typical traits of the 'macho' man, but I suppose one I do posses in spite of myself is the stupid tendency to equate sadness or fear with weakness, and thus not something a _man,_" he rolled his eyes at the word, "should openly admit to feeling."

He set his glass down next to hers and folded his legs in around her. She wiggled to accommodate the move, essentially cuddling herself into his lap.

"We are often a difficult species to root for, Abbie." He sighed. "Humans. I know such thoughts are not an uncommon, but I fell far, far down that well. It began . . . perhaps four months before Malphus attacked. I was browsing the news, and there was story that included a photograph of this precious little boy. Four years old. Darling thing. He was beaming at the camera. Bursting with joy and youth. His mum took the picture. And . . ." Ichabod fought the pain welling in his chest. "Three days later she cut his throat."

Abbie grimaced. Only once had she dealt with a case of child homicide, but at least in that case the killer wasn't the kid's own mom. Bad enough to know you're dying, but to spend the last seconds of your life knowing your own parent had done it?

Ichabod swallowed. "She herself was severely plagued by mental disorders and her meds had been recently adjusted - and that's another thing," he diverged, "what sort of loving God allows for such insidious conditions of the mind to exist? - Anyhow," he returned to the main narrative. "The story haunted me."

He paused, mulling over his past. "I don't mean to imply horrible people didn't do horrible things to one another in my day as well, but the news of every single one could not be spread far and wide so quickly, nor accentuated with photographs or moving pictures. I began . . . " again he paused to choke back a grief didn't care to relive.

In fact, were he speaking to anyone but Abbie he'd have changed the subject before she could continue the line of inquiry.

But this _was_ Abbie. And if he wanted to trust that she accepted all of him, it meant the ugly parts as well. So he took a deep breath and continued.

"I began to zero in on the worst examples of our species. Despots and tyrants inflicting unforgivable suffering on masses of people. Powerful elites facing little to no consequence for blatant fraud and thievery! Individuals who kill or rape for pleasure. Abusers of spouses and children . . . and that's just the _illegal_ crime."

He drew a ragged breath while Abbie sat silent, sensing he wasn't finished.

"Then there is war. The weapons have changed, but the stench of it remains the same. The barbarism." He reached out and gripped her hand so tight it was like he thought she could keep him from falling off the edge of a cliff. "During the war I witnessed acts of bravery and valor, both on and off the battlefield. So many. But as my frame of mind grew darker and darker I became fixated on the all the horrific memories. Men destroyed - either crushed by the misery or warping themselves into hardened killers to avoid facing the misery. The torture, the deceit." He cringed. "Even the mere existence of battle began to eat at me more than it had since . . . "

Abbie watched in silence as shining tears pooled and fell from his eyes.

His jaw clenched.

Still she sat silent. She knew him. He had something to say, and he would. Even if it took him an hour.

"Abbie, I cannot describe to you what it's like to watch a dear friend use the last of his strength trying to stuff his own guts back into the shredded hole of a mortal wound. To stand there . . . " he swallowed, grief thick as pitch in his throat. " . . . to stand there and want nothing more than to fight your way to his side and offer some small comfort in his dying moment. But you can't because you've switched sides recently and now he's _the enemy." _

He leaned forward and gently cradled Abbie's face to absorb some of her warmth. "And then there's the part that never happened. At least I hope it didn't."

She waited patiently for him to continue.

"In the weeks before Malphus attacked I had a thousand nightmares, but the worst of them was of that day on the battlefield." His eyes became unfocused and wandered to a far off place. "I am standing in the muck. I can smell gunpowder and hear the cries around me. But I am stalk still and staring at my dying friend. He's trying to save himself in the face of obvious futility - and that part did happen," he clarified, "but in my nightmare he doesn't just die. Before he dies, his gaze turns to me . . . " Ichabod began to choke on his own words. He only fought to keep speaking because he knew it would cause Abbie worry not to know the rest. "His eyes fill with disgust and rage. He points at me. And curses me. Over and over and over again he curses me, all the while trying to re - stuff his own guts. This boy I used to run about with . . . play with . . . and we end in gore and hatred."

He shrugged, still confused about the hows and whys of it all.

"I couldn't stop thinking of these things." he shook his head, mystified by his own mind. "I tried Abbie, but I couldn't make myself change course. Every day I fell closer and closer to the belief that if pure evil did overtake our world . . . it wouldn't really make a large difference."

He paused and allowed Abbie to brush away more tears as they fell.

"And beneath it all was my _worst_ fear," he rasped, clutching her hands even tighter. "That I would come to lean so heavily on you for my one and only source of light, I would become a leech. I would need your constant reassurance until I'd drained you of all energy. Andthe guilt of doing such a thing would devour me until one day I reached for a pistol."

"Crane," Abbie kissed him fervently. "How could you keep all this from me?" Another upsetting thought struck her. "And how the hell did I not see it anyway? See _something?!"_

"You would have," Ichabod replied, finally beginning to regain control. "I was weeks away from crumbling. Maybe days. But!" He clapped his thigh, and his voice suddenly cheered a bit. "Then out of the blue things took a better turn. Of course Malphus meant to bury me for good so it wouldn't have mattered to him who got the short straw. But when you restored Ichabod - as I believe the forces of good meant you to - Simon and I were a perfect fit in so many more ways than you know. He didn't just _fit_ me, he _saved_ me."

"How do you mean?" Abbie asked quietly. "It couldn't have just been a great pep talk."

Ichabod chuckled. "I knew - Simon knew even as a child that he wanted to preserve, protect, save. He had such compassion and optimism - dear God the optimism, he's a depthless well of it. Absorbing those qualities all the way down to my soul repaired me. Corrected my vision. And I was equally beneficial to him. He was always on the lookout for ways to do more. Beyond his work with animals he volunteered for every humanitarian endeavor he had the time and energy to tackle. Habitat for humanity. Food drives. Disaster relief. You get the idea. So when he found himself fused to me? A man whose destiny was to protect and defend all of humanity? It was, to invoke a modern phrase, his wet dream."

Abbie chuckled.

"If not for Simon's rescue, I would have surrendered. Fallen from grace."

Abbie remained wedged between conflicting instincts. She deeply empathized, but she couldn't force herself to simply accept the fact that he'd shut her out in such a time of crisis.

"I still need to know how could you keep something this huge from me." She insisted. "If you had _vented! _If you'd leaned on me when it first started happening maybe it wouldn't have gotten so -"

"I know." Ichabod whispered with a helpless shrug. "All I can say, Abbie, is . . ." he sighed resigned to the consequences of his choice. "I told myself was keeping up a brave front to spare you the worry. Looking back - and with Simon's added wisdom - I see the great lie clear as day. I kept it secret to spare _myself _from having to admit weakness. 'A SOLDIER TAKES HIS LOT AND CARRIES ON!' That sort of nonsense."

Abbie nuzzled and gave him a small smile, deeply relieved that he'd had the integrity not to answer her question with a barrage of excuses.

Ichabod returned the smile and then some. It grew big enough to drive the last hints of pain from his gentle features. "In the oddest way, Simon and I are both _truer_ versions of ourselves now." He looked down at their joined hands and traced circles over her engagement ring. To be accompanied by a wedding ring in less than 48 hours.

A completely new realization struck him. "Actually, even if I had managed to keep crawling through my days without Simon, _and_ go on hiding the truth from you . . . a man with no real hope in his heart wouldn't likely propose marriage, would he?" He shrugged. "Why bother? It would just be one more beautiful thing for the world to destroy, right?"

He pulled Abbie flush against him and herarms curled around his neck as he kissed her with every ounce of warmth and joy one could communicate in physical contact.

"Mmmmm," he sighed happily when they separated. "It seems Malphus was conned into aiding and abetting a number of miracles." He kissed her cheek. "Poor demon. He must be spitting mad."

Ichabod leaned back and gazed at her, his cheered but still damp eyes filled with devotion and apology. "Can you forgive me my secret?"

"Yes." She brushed her mouth over his, "but hide something this huge from me again and I will de - ball you with a butter knife."

"Understood," he murmured, throwing his arms around her and sweeping his hands up her back. "Consider it a singular offense."

He pulled her into a kiss and Abbie closed her eyes, focusing on the nuances of his tongue as it slid against hers, his pace going from languid to lively. Within moments she noticed the firm press of arousal beneath her.

"Really?" She said with a gentle laugh. "You go from 'I wanted to die' to 'I wanna get laid' in like a minute?"

Ichabod nuzzled her throat as his hands crept up the warm flesh of her thighs. "I am either a horribly depraved soul, or I simply cannot be distracted from my want of you for long." She felt his long fingers grip her hips beneath the neglige and coax her into a back and forth motion to provide him with more friction.

"It's still gross," she whispered into his mouth even as she obliged and began to roll her hips without guidance. Slow and steady.

"Your sweet talk," he whispered back in between tiny kisses, "needs work."

Abbie threaded her hands in his hair and attacked his mouth with increasing enthusiasm and accelerated the motion of her hips.

He was panting heavily by the time she pulled back to unbutton his shirt. It wasn't a cold night, but cool enough that running her hands over the warmth of his exposed chest provided significant pleasure.

"My sweet talk needs work?" Her lust - addled voice rumbled in the night air. "How about . . . you're so good to me honey, I love you so much. Or were you thinking racier?"

"Like what?" he panted.

"Nobody . . . " her voice started to shake. "Nobody ever . . . made me cum . . . so hard -" she reached down between their bodies and unzipped his pants. "May I _please_ ride you 'til you lose your fucking mind?"

"God yes," he whined, craving her heat.

Abbie reared up and guided his hand between her legs.

"Feel that?" She whispered.

Ichabod moaned as his fingertips brushed the damp fabric of her panties. "Yes."

"Mmmmmmm," she sighed. "Feel deeper."

He pushed aside the slender scrap of fabric between her legs, teased at her entrance, and began to stroke himself as two fingers slid into her warmth.

She clutched his shoulders and bucked against him, her breath shallow and shaking.

"Ah!" she cried when his fingers found and massaged a particular spot. "Keep going! There! Right - ah!"

Ichabod quickly adjusted their bodies so that his fingers would be immediately replaced, and lowered her onto him just as the muscles inside her began to spasm and contract.

He hissed, and moaned, and clung to her silk - clad body while the wet shiver of her ascending orgasm drew tight around his pulsing length.

She positioned herself in a way that guaranteed he would feel the fullest, deepest impact of her final release, and rode him forcefully as it approached.

True to her word, she did ride him until he lost his fucking mind.

The next morning, noon, and night were just an obnoxious mound of minutes piled between them and their wedding day.

Both of them leapt out of bed the day after that ready to get married.

_Nothing will go amiss,_ Crane assured himself as he stood in front of the mirror, eagle eyes scouring every detail. _The suit is fine, the minister, the band, and the caterers are all here_ . . . he stared at his palms and ordered them not to sweat. _Deep breaths. Deeeeeeep breaths._

"Hey," Frank poked his head in the door. "Band's all set up, they're running sound checks now."

"Good," Ichabod smoothed down the front of his vest. "Katrina helped me select this. The idea was _dapper. _I have a slender build, and she assured me that the most well dressed slender fellow ever to sport a dapper tuxedo was Fred Astaire, and this is a close approximation of the style. Your opinion?"

"The man could dance."

Ichabod gave him a look.

"Y'look dapper." Frank smiled. "I'm gonna go see how the caterers are doing."

Meanwhile, in the bride's dressing room:

"You have to have something old, new, borrowed, and blue!" Jenny insisted. "It's traditional!"

"You pick the weirdest rituals to be picky about."

Jenny crossed her arms. "You're not getting married until we hook you up with the required accessories."

Abbie grinned. "You're right. My wedding day really should be everything _you_ ever imagined."

Jenny fished through her purse.

"Here. It's my favorite switchblade and it's old. Got it from Corbin. Give it back to me after the ceremony, then it's borrowed and old.

_You are baffling!_

"Where am I gonna put a switchblade?"

Jenny looked at her like she was a complete moron. "You're wearing a garter belt, aren't you?"

Just for shits and giggles, Abbie decided to go with it. "So we're left with new, and blue. Whaddaya got?

Jenny chewed her lip for a moment. "Nothing. But I'll text Kat, she's somewhere around here."

A few minutes later Kat rushed in with a martini glass full of bright blue liquid, and held it aloft triumphantly.

"It's blue, and the bartender just mixed it so it's also quite new, and you will _technically_ have it on/in your body during the vows bit, because the wedding starts in five minutes. Drink up!"

"What kind of drink is it?"

"It's called a Blue Devil Cocktail." Kat grinned. "Yes, I do know of several other blue drinks, but given our line of work this one gave me a giggle."

Abbie didn't bother asking what was in it, figuring she could always take a few big gulps and make Katrina finish the rest.

Which is exactly what she did.

_I really hope the minister doesn't smell gin on my breath._

Exactly five minutes later, things got rolling.

"I understand you've written your own vows?" asked their officiant, a middle aged nondenominational minister named Laura.

They both nodded yes.

"Who would like to begin?"

Ichabod gave a slight bow and took Abbie's hands in his.

"Abbie Mills. The day we met I was shackled and thought to be insane. My circumstances had me shocked, affronted, and greatly confused - in short, I was in no mood to offer my trust to anyone, much less make new friends."

He paused to steady and gather himself. "And then there was you. So determined and dauntless. By the end of that single chaotic day against all reason you'd won my respect, my loyalty, and my friendship. Also on that day something took root inside of me that would become love."

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "I draw strength from your strength, and courage from your courage, and humor from your humor. I will never -" he halted for a moment. "I will never be more grateful for anything as I am for the gift of what we share."

He caressed her hands and nodded to indicate that it was her turn.

"Ichabod _Crane."_ (She felt the need to emphasize _Crane_. It was the name they'd chosen as their unilateral identifier, and since learning of the vital role Simon played in keeping her husband alive much less sane, she was more certain than ever that she was marrying one soul.)

She drew a long, calming breath and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "You are my anchor, my comfort, and my shelter. When I feel weak - those _rare_ moments -"

A light chuckle rolled through the small assembly.

"When I'm weak just the thought of you, of our bond, makes me fearless again." She paused and ordered herself not to fall apart. "When my life feels too big and too _overwhelming_ to handle, I remember what we have and suddenly my life is simple. Because at the end of the day I only have _one_ real job. Which is to protect _us_, and this extraordinary thing that we have, come hell or high water. And I promise you right now I will do exactly that with every breath I have, and nothing in this life will ever stop me."

She did her best to conjure a wobbly smile as Ichabod's eyes welled up.

"Cut it out!" She whispered with affectionate urgency. "If you start I'll start!"

They both turned to face the minister.

"You may exchange rings."

They exchanged the white gold bands without a word.

"In acknowledgement of the vows and declarations here given, with the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The woman smiled and gave them each a small bow. "You may now get to the fun part!"

Before Abbie knew what was happening she was grabbed and flung sideways in a dip as Ichabod's mouth closed over hers.

A soft, wedding appropriate kiss.

The unexpected maneuver helped pull her back somewhat from the verge of sentimental tears, and she giggled against his lips as the kiss came to an end.

Ichabod swung his new wife upright and announced to the crowd with jubilant flare:

"Food, drink and dancing right across the hall!"

The newlyweds rushed down the aisle and ducked into a small empty room a few doors away from the reception.

"Oh boy!" Abbie exclaimed while fanning her eyes.

Ichabod meanwhile loosened his tie. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't tell if that was fantastic or brutal."

"No I get it." Abbie sniffled. "I honestly thought I was going to explode trying not to cry, and then you'd be stuck married to a pile of ashes!"

Ichabod pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Likewise. You know, I'm sure it's practically cultural mandate that we get in a quickie before the reception, but I'd rather not remember our first married encounter as a show of tears and drippy noses."

Abbie gave a smart nod and held out her elbow. "To the reception?"

"To the reception!"

Katrina was the first to approach after they'd cleared the gauntlet of well - wishers.

"You got here fast," she said, her tone reeking if suspicion. "I mean . . . _really_ fast." She raised an eyebrow in Ichabod's direction. "Are we getting lazy?"

His eyes narrowed. "Imagine me giving you a solid kick to the shin." he replied. "If you must know, the ceremony left us emotionally overtaxed and we opted to forgo sub - par intimacy." His eyes narrowed even more. "Surely you remember how I loathe underachievement?"

Abbie tried to stifle a laugh. She was weirdly comfortable with Ichabod and Katrina referencing their previous married life.

"Hey thanks guys," Max said as he approached. "Every speech I'll ever give in my life is gonna be shit compared to those." He took Kat's hands and gazed into her eyes with profound sincerity. "Whenever we decide to get married could you do me a huge favor and set the bar reeeeeealllllly low?"

Kat took her hands from his and cradled his face as though it were a fragile, precious object.

"You are lovely, and I love you. Now, I do believe there's a minibar nearby with our name on it!"

Max turned to Abbie and Ichabod with a broad grin. "Well that's a relief."

"No, those were my future vows," Kat clarified. "Lovely, love you, minibar."

Max's broad grin grew even broader, and he and Kat gave the newlyweds a wordless goodbye nod before walking away.

Ichabod and Abbie listened in on their continuing chatter.

"Seriously? You're cool with stupid vows?"

Kat shrugged and side bumped him. "I may throw in something about your sexual prowess."

Abbie put her arms around Ichabod's waist as the other couple moved out of earshot. "You know with any other couple I'd assume they were joking, but . . . "

"Truthfully?" Ichabod leaned down and kissed her temple. "I'm expecting fire breathers and trapeze artists."

(As it would turn out years later, his guess wasn't too far off.)

Ichabod and Abbie went through the usual post - ceremony paces. Mingle, enjoy an amazing catered meal, first dance, getting pelted with birdseed as they made a mad dash for their car (neither of them gave a rat's ass about limos).

As they ran through the rain of seeds, Abbie was _literally_ hit by the thoughtfulness of her mate. The tradition for a few hundred years was of course throwing rice, but it switched to paper confetti or birdseed when word went around that eating rice made the poor birds explode. As it turned out, the rice thing was basically an urban myth unless a single bird ate enough rice to make its stomach explode from sheer volume, but Crane still wanted the birdseed instead because it was _healthier_ for birds than rice. Plus the paper confetti option, while colorful and fun, fed nothing.

Nope. Crane wanted to get married _and_ feed birdies.

They were honeymooning at a place called Quiet Shadows Getaway and Resort. It was a rustic place, and the Honeymoon Suite itself was modest, but they'd booked it with a package that included a private hot tub and sauna, kayaking on the Hudson River, a large assortment of hiking trails, and something the resort called "The Newlywed's Feast" wherein you could order anything off of a special "Newlyweds Menu," and it was included in the price of the package.

As far as Ichabod and Abbie were concerned, the actual suite could be a tent and an outhouse and it would still be worth the price for all the perks.

Ichabod swatted the suitcase out of Abbie's hand the second the door clicked shut behind them.

"I have grand ambitions, Mrs. Crane," he purred into her ear.

She closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, her back resting against his chest. They stood silently for a long while, basking in the warm reality that they were Mr. and Mrs. Crane.

_It's all so tangible,_ she thought when he laced his fingers with hers and she felt their respective wedding rings cozied together side by side. _So official._

Ichabod steered her to the center of the room and swiveled around her body so they stood face to face. He leaned down and met her in long, unruly kiss as he hiked up the front of her dress and guided her hands beneath the waistband of her panties.

"Pleasure yourself," he commanded softly when then kiss broke. "And keep your eyes trained to me."

Abbie's pulse sped up as she watched Ichabod wander to the bedside table and turn to face her.

_Off to a great start!_

She was more than adept at getting herself off under even mundane circumstances so between seeing the look on his face and the work of her own hands, she was surging with arousal by the time he slid the tuxedo jacket off his shoulders and tossed it on the bed.

"I assume you remember your vows?" He asked as he took off his shoes and slid them under the bed. The cadence of his voice was so low the sound of a pin dropping could have drowned it out.

"Yes," she replied as a familiar heat began to spread through her chest that made her breath shallow and shiver.

"Recite them." He removed his right cuff links and lolled them about in his hand like dice. "Precisely. And do not cease what you're doing."

"Mmmmm," Abbie sighed, rocking her hips for better friction and a more active thrust.

"Ichabod _Crane," _(she even used the same emphasis. _Precisely._) "You are my anchor, my comfort, and my shelter."

He removed his left cuff links and deposited the collection on the bedside stand without breaking eye contact.

When I feel . . . weak, those rare . . . ooooooh, oh . . . moments . . . just the thought of you, of our bond, makes me fearless again."

He meandered slowly forward as he unbuttoned his cuffs, then vest.

"When my _LIFE -"_ her voice jumped several octaves when her fingers brushed over a place inside her that sent a shiver through her body. She took a second to collect herself before continuing. " . . . feels too big and too overwhelming to handle, I remember what we have,"

He stood at the foot of the bed, shrugged the vest off his shoulders and let it fall carelessly to the floor.

". . . and suddenly my life is simple."

The tie joined the vest, and he went to work on his shirt, never once taking his eyes off Abbie.

"At - at, aaaaah . . . the end of the day I only have _one_ real job. Which is -" she drew a long, ragged breath when the muscles inside her began to contract.

". . . to protect us, and this extraordinary thing that we have, c - c - come hell or . . . " her words spilled out in a thin, whimpering tone. " . . . comehellorhighwater! AH! I, I, I promise you right now -"

By that time Ichabod was fully naked and stroking himself, the look on his face screaming _sex._

She rallied every ounce of sense she had left to finish the speech without stammer or pause.

"I will do exactly that," she whispered, "with every breath I have, and nothing in this life will ever stop me." She finished. Proud, panting, and so _so_ close. Under normal circumstances she'd let go and cum, but she held out this time in case Ichabod -

"Undress quickly and come here." said Ichabod as he sped up his stroke.

She obliged, and it couldn't have been more than a second before her back hit the mattress at the foot of the bed and Ichabod's mouth immediately descended on her thighs, kissing, licking, and moaning as he traveled to her clit, his fingers already busily pushing and petting inside the familiar terrain of her needy core.

He devoured her sex like a starving man determined to sate himself as pre - cum coated every inch of his straining shaft. The greedy hardness _begged him_ to trade his own hand for a far superior pleasure. To lay claim to the pulsing depth of his new wife for the first time. To fill and feel her take him.

_Please._

_Please._

_PLEASE!_

He had no intention of completely stifling his own pleasure on the night of his wedding, but both Ichabod the boyfriend/suitor and Ichabod the fiancé preferred to satisfy a partner at least once before fulfilling their own need. He wasn't fanatically obsessive about it, but he did intend for Ichabod the husband to continue the general trend. Thus, for their first ever married experience he wanted Abbie to have what he considered to be the best version of himself as a lover.

Luckily she'd done such a good job tending to herself, it didn't take long to see her the rest of the way through the rise, crest, and fall of a first orgasm.

_Then _he gave in.

_"Crane, Crane, Crane," _she panted.

"Abbie!" He answered her breathy plea, trying and failing to find more articulate words as her legs splayed wide and he buried himself in her welcoming embrace.

He did have several scenarios in mind that revolved around Abbie servicing _his_ libido, but the night was still in early bloom, and they had a whole Honeymoon to enjoy after that. Plenty of time to check things off the Newlyweds List.

The sentimental. The salacious. The plain and simple fun.

Ichabod and Abbie spent their Honeymoon enjoying everything their chosen location had to offer from kayaking to gorging on chocolate silk pie.

But as for their first night of life as Mr. and Mrs. Crane? They both tucked that night away in a private, gated corner of their married memory.

**A Brief Epilogue . . . **

There is a space in between a momentary wildness and absolute loss of sense. It has no name, no track of time. No form or structure.

Sound. Heat. Eyes. Contact.

Only things you want to see or feel are present.

If a person is lucky, they visit this space at least once.

If they're _very_ lucky, they visit it alongside a lover and genuine friend.

No one gets to stay there for long no matter how in love they are, because it's completely uncomplicated. The opposite of everyday life. And no love is True Love if it cannot survive the trials of everyday life.

Still.

It's a great place to visit, especially on the first night of a Honeymoon.


	13. Secret Keepers

** Some new mythology and a hefty dose of smut. Abbie and Ichabod go exploring ;-) **

_Private saunas are a wonderful thing!_ Thought Ichabod as Abbie slid off the bench and knelt in front of him, her whole body shining from the steam.

He was half hard already. It only took two feathery strokes to bring him to robust attention.

"Wait," he whispered just as she moved to take him in her mouth. He raked his hands through her damp hair. "I always love this image." He ran a thumb over her bottom lip. "It runs a close second to the moment I cum."

Abbie smiled. "Then may I?"

He leaned back and braced himself on the bench. "By all means. Don't let me - aaaaah," he warbled and sighed when her mouth descended, "stop you . . . "

She loved the way his thigh muscles jerked as she moved up and down, and how the bench creaked every time he shuddered or shifted. He started to pulse in her mouth almost right away, so she curled her fingers around his base and squeezed juuuuuust hard enough to keep him from going over the edge.

He whined, both mournful and grateful.

_Too soon, too soon . . . . she's far too talented. . . too soon._

She took him deep until her jaw objected past the point of being ignored, then switched to other reliable methods.

She leaned back and watched his face as she stroked his solid length.

Pupils blown and lips slightly parted.

Without warning he grabbed her free arm, pulled her toward him, and met her halfway in a kiss seemingly designed to drown them both.

"Mmmmm," Abbie moaned as she went on stroking.

_Okay that's enough, Crane._

She pushed him away with a grin. "I have things to do."

"Always the busy one," he mused as she wandered downward, leaving a winding trail of lazy kisses along the way.

"AH!" He gasped when she reached her destination, flattened her tongue against his shaft and flicked her tongue over the weeping head in a strict straight line.

The move was always met with an enthusiastic response, usually accompanied by a series of shallow thrusts. This time he even held her head in place as he bucked into her throat. Not so firmly she couldn't push back if the need arose, but it was more command than he usually demonstrated in the course of a blow job.

"Exactly that," he whispered when she began to stroke his base, accommodating whatever depth and pace he chose by sucking with just enough pressure to provide friction without impeding his thrust. "Exactly. Ex - _exactly that."_

Abbie sighed against his hard flesh to let him know she could handle it. More than handle it. Her whole body hummed with so much energy she couldn't stop her self from diverting a hand to her clit. She came quietly while Crane remained in control of her mouth, her orgasm betrayed only by a slight shiver in her tongue and shoulders.

"So . . . so, damn, so - _oh GOD!"_

Abbie heard the urgency in his voice and felt his thighs twitch and jump erratically, so she knew he was close. On the brink.

She adjusted her mouth and waited.

A series of rattling gasps accompanied each thrust as he spilled and she swallowed.

She didn't withdraw until she knew it was over, and aftershocks (if there were any) wouldn't likely be enough to get him serviceably hard again.

_Not a chance,_ Abbie thought with a surge of pride.

Crane was sagging against the wall, his chest heaving, and Abbie was confident he'd have been flushed and sweating a little even if they weren't in a sauna. If he did get it up again she'd have no choice but to test him for stimulant drugs of some kind.

She leaned her head against his knee and gave him a warm smile. "Let me know when you're ready to leave."

He returned her smile and giggled, drunk on sex.

"I had planned to get you off as well, but I believe you took care of yourself, yes?"

Abbie kissed his leg with a sigh. "You noticed that, huh?"

"It was subtle." He gently stroked her cheek. "But I always pay close attention to you, Abbie. I notice everything."

She pressed her face into his leg and groaned. "I've been a cop for too long."

Ichabod raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Because when you said that, my first thought was 'you know, under different circumstances those words would be really stalker-y.'"

She used his legs as leverage to hoist herself up and sit on the bench next to him. "Like imagine the letter taped to my door 'I notice _everything!"_' She hissed ominously. "Then there's a photo of me taken from outside my window in an envelope."

The couple remained in their sauna for a few more minutes before they moseyed down the private hallway back to their room.

"Oh dear," Ichabod sighed when he picked up his phone.

Abbie cringed. "Don't say. Please don't say it."

"Five texts, all from Max, and there's a vid file attached."

The (obvious) agreement was no contact unless it's an emergency.

"Let's just skip to the video, shall we?"

They stood side by side and Ichabod pressed play.

_"Fuuuuuuuck!"_ Frank's voice cried from off camera as Max's freaked out face took up half the frame.

He was in the archives room, and they could hear chaos going on around him.

_"We wanted to handle - ah!" _He ducked as the glow of what they both assumed was fire passed over his head._ "Handle this on our own, but we need you like, uh, now."_

Max was running/crawling/ducking around the room as he spoke, weaving in and out of frame. Suddenly a dark haze swooped in and seemed to attach itself begin to solidify. Max barked a quick incantation and the thing screeched as it become a fog again and swooped away.

_"Shiiiiiiiiiiit!"_ They heard Frank bellow, cut off my a thundering crash._ "Kat!"_ He yelled. _"Let's add a word to your vocabulary, okay? DUCK! I cannot read your damn mind!"_

Max pushed a cabinet away from the wall and skittered behind it.

_"Jenny did some book shit, but we still have no idea -"_ he looked up and yelled out the same incantation as before several times, presumably warding off more haze creatures. _"No idea what they are. They're badass, and, uh, possessing the precinct or something."_ He started speaking so fast they had to struggle to understand him. _"Five cops have been put on suspension for excessive force, another three given citations, and a buncha other crazy shit, tell you when you get here but GET HERE!" _He panted. _"I gotta go help Kat now, the fireballs are more contained when we work 'em together!"_

End of video.

The Newlyweds sprung into action without taking a second to bemoan the fact that their honeymoon had just ended four days early.

Three hours later they were helping gather up things too broken or burnt to salvage and reorganize what could be saved.

"What finally drove them off?" asked Ichabod.

"They're gone for the moment," said Kat, "but until we know otherwise we must assume they continue to inhabit the precinct. And we're not sure what defeated them entirely."

"The fire and random energy waves -" Frank side - eyed Kat. "Were enough to . . . sort of fight them."

Ichabod and Abbie both assumed it was one of the 'energy waves' that sent Frank Irving crashing into things.

Frank continued. "But then one by one they started getting, I don't know how to describe it . . . looser. Like . . . a fog thinning out. Until that's basically all they were. One big thin fog."

Max nodded. "We sat down on the couch and watched it drift around and fade away for probably an hour."

"I popped popcorn." said Jenny, hand raised to take credit.

"Ugh," Kat huffed. "We'll need to bring in fans to blow out the smoke smell."

She and Max spent the next few days working on ways to possibly contain the 'mist monsters.' Maybe even communicate.

Simon also contributed the idea of tag - and - track.

"Like we do with animals we want to monitor remotely. If you can whip up something that emits a signal you can stay connected to and follow? We might be able to stop them from driving any more officers bonkers."

"Yeah," said Abbie. "You two do that and the rest of us will worry about research."

Frank nodded. "The man who just got tossed around like a beanbag seconds that idea."

Max and Kat spent the next several days at home test driving options. Eventually they landed on vaporizing a handful of silver dust and using an incantation to meld the vapor to the dark mist. Then they just had to loiter around the precinct and wait for another one to show up to see if it would work.

Which meant they needed an excuse to be hanging out at a police station all day.

"Easy," said Abbie. "Just carry around files, always be in a hurry, and if anyone asks, you're temping in the processing department because it's short staffed - processing is _always_ short staffed." She got a pair of laminate IDs made up on the sly, and the plan was in motion.

File pushing with pockets full of silver.

Two nights later Kat and Max texted everyone and told them to get to the woods on the northeast side of town.

"There's a cave," Kat explained as she lead them through the forest. "We haven't ventured inside, but it's in there. And we have a sense it's getting larger - though we believe it's from the entities joining together, not getting bigger as individuals."

Max met them at the entrance of the cave, his hand emitting light so his bones shone through.

Crane shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever quiiiiite get used to Magical Max."

Max chuckled.

Abbie opened her mouth to ask something along the lines of 'what's the plan?' When a horrendous howl erupted from within the cave.

They all backed away. Kat and Max pooled a puddle of fire between their joined hands, Jenny and Frank aimed their guns, and Abbie and Crane stood there feeling un - characteristically useless.

"Darn it!" A shrill, annoyed voice cried out as a booming sound struck the air and rumbled away like a thunderclap.

A man - shaped figure emerged from the cave dripping with a dark substance.

"A fog turning to ooze when you kill it," the man grumbled, wiping dark sludge from his body as he walked. "Ridiculous! I - oh!" The man stopped short when he saw the small collection of people before him. He walked closer. "If you wouldn't mind dimming the lights a bit?" He asked Max and Kat politely. "Hard to see through the glare, and I'm a big believer in proper introductions."

Abbie, Ichabod, and Frank recognized the soft, polite tone right away, and their jaws all dropped.

_"RANKIN?!"_

"Oh my," he gasped when Max and Kat dimmed the fire to a soft glow. He stepped closer and his eyes went from one familiar face to the next. "Well . . . gosh, how on earth did you all get roped into this nasty business?"

"Uh . . . "

"Wwwwwuuuuuuhhhhhh . . . "

"It's . . . "

Frank frowned at Abbie, Abbie frowned at Ichabod, Ichabod's frown shot back and forth between Abbie and Frank. Jenny frowned and kept her gun trained on Rankin, and Max and Kat just stared at each other, confused and waiting for someone to explain.

Abbie finally decided _fuck it, he obviously knows what's up._

"Well uh, we're the two witnesses." She indicated herself and Ichabod.

Officer Rankin's shoulders slumped. "You mean it's the Apocalypse?" He whined. "Already? Bummer." Then his face brightened suddenly and he smiled at Abbie and Ichabod. "Oh, but how _sweet_ the two witnesses fell in love!"

"So what the hell are you Carl?" Jenny asked with her characteristic straightforwardness.

"Hm," the sludge covered officer pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That is a tricky question . . ."

Everyone waited patiently for him to continue.

"I go out of my way to avoid this stuff, but as soon as I figured out the station was being attacked by something from my old neck of the woods, I had to -"

"You're a demon?" said Crane, leaning back warily. "Or a condemned soul?"

"Nonono," he waved off both suggestions. "But have been in hell. And heaven. I'm what's called a Wanderer."

"How do you wander exactly?" asked Irving. "Through people's minds or . . . souls?"

Rankin chuckled. "Mostly by car these days. Speaking of which, where are you all parked?"

"North Lilly Ave, on the shoulder," said Abbie.

"I'll walk you out and explain in the way." He took a deep breath. "First you need to understand is The Bible's version of these things is about thirty percent accurate, forty percent pretty close, twenty percent written by very, _very_ stoned men, and the last ten percent written by . . . well, flat out rotten liars!"

They started back toward North Lilly, Max and Kat flanking the group and lighting the path ahead.

"You're talking like you know this stuff first hand." Said Frank. "How old are you, Carl?"

"I'm not one for keeping track," Rankin replied. "But it's a safe bet that if you covered every inch of the country with birthday candles you'd still need more."

Abbie tried to process the information and combine it with her image of Carl Rankin, but she was pretty sure she could actually _smell_ her brain melting, so she gave up and stuck to listening.

"Starting at the beginning," Rankin continued._ "Angel_ is a ridiculous human word. I like a lot of the paintings and sculptures as art, but as accurate depictions go, there isn't one. We only have form to one another. In the technical sense we're invisible. I'm not _now_ obviously, but one thing at a time. In the Bible there's no question of God being the good guy, right? You can take it for granted that anyone doubting him was just misguided or outright hostile, but when these things were actually happening it wasn't so simple. A lot of us had issues with his . . . we'll call it management style."

Everyone froze suddenly when they heard something moving to their right. Max and Kat turned their hands in the direction of the sound.

Deer.

"Hello," Rankin smiled and waved as the animal trotted away. "For one thing, creating a species with free will but then giving a bunch of them destinies seemed counterintuitive. Nope, he wouldn't explain it."

The group continued through the woods.

"Then on the flip side his defense for not intervening in wars was that it was man's free will to choose said war. Okay. That's fair. But what about _agonizing_ genetic conditions, brain disorders, Alzheimer's - why give such a mean fate to someone if you don't have to?" Rankin frowned. "'Test of faith.' Is what he said. _That's_ the one that got Lucifer's blood boiling - metaphorically of course. God and Lucifer spent a long time fighting about whether or not it was worth a fight, then fought about how to fight, then fought about who was the more righteous warrior. It was really - pardon my language - it was _effing tiresome!" _He sighed. "Meanwhile, the rest of us started arguing over whether or not we ought to have a say in a things. Think 'Knights of the Round Table,' that's what I wanted. The King still being the King, but us allowed to openly disagree with or challenge him without automatically being The Bad Guy, or cast out."

Jenny's eyes narrowed and she sidled close to the Officer. "It kinda sounds like you're a demon, Officer."

Rankin smiled at her with genuine warmth. "Do you prefer Jenny or Jennifer?"

"Jenny," she replied, her eyes still narrow.

"Jenny." He said the name affectionately. "It's a beautiful name. I wasn't a demon, Jenny. But this is a complicated story, and I'm doing the best I can. Where was I? Right! I took Lucifer's side. I didn't agree with all of his ideas, but I thought his vision for heaven and humans was generally a fairer way to run things."

"So you were cast out with Lucifer at battle's end?" Kat asked rhetorically.

Rankin nodded. "Mm - hm. Which brings us to hell. _Hell_ being another silly human word. The truth is Hell evolved - or _devolved_ - into a pit for the damned over time. Same with Lucifer's dissent into pure evil. When we first fell a lot of the fallen wanted to keep fighting. They didn't just want to oust God, either. They wanted to destroy him. I wanted _no part_ of that. Ironically, neither did Lucifer." Rankin's eyebrows knit with sadness. "I was so optimistic about him as a leader. He urged us simply build our own society rather than fight. But . . lacking the power to create souls, we opted to . . . "

"Buy them?" Max interjected. "I officially agree with Jenny."

_Not possible,_ thought Abbie. If it were anyone else she'd be demanding they perform an exorcism right there in the woods, but Carl Rankin was the kind of guy who trapped an indoor spider and released it outside in the grass rather than squish it.

She shook off the thought and went back to listening and watching her step.

"We didn't start out buying souls. We opted to approach folks that we thought God had really _really_ pooped on, and offered to fix the injustice free of charge." Rankin sighed. "It went great until the smiting started. On both sides. The un - fallen and the fallen started to . . . oh, they may as well have been stupid bar fights! Except they fought to the death. I'm pretty sure that's when Lucifer started to go batty. He was testing himself all the time to figure out what his powers were capable of without the leash of God."

"Mm," Ichabod mused as he guided Abbie around a protrusion of mangled root. "I assume discovered he could draw human souls to the new domain, yes? Divert them?"

"Yes." Rankin confirmed. _"And_ give them enough power to become basically one of us and keep our numbers replenished in spite of all the slaying. Now, me? I stayed faaaaar away from the fighting," he held up his hands. "All I wanted to do was take away people's crippling conditions, cure agonizing pains, that sort of thing."

_That sounds like the guy I know,_ thought Abbie, relieved to have something familiar.

Rankin sighed. "But Lucifer got more prideful and arrogant by the second. Eventually he was encouraging us to seek out conflict with un - fallen angels. To skirmish. The exact opposite of what he first preached! A bunch of us kept telling him it wasn't smart, but . . . a devil was being born right in front of us. One brutality at a time. Then he took it further. He gave us permission to lie and manipulate humans into making deals with us. Even worse, to offer the trade to anyone for any reason. 'Sell your soul and we'll make you famous,' that kind of thing. I put my foot down and refused!"

"So you were kicked out?" asked Abbie as they started to skitter down the brambly embankment toward the road.

"No. I wasn't ejected, but I wasn't respected either." Carl carefully wove his way through something prickly. "The ones who showed real bloodlust? They got all power and privileges, and more of us than not were seduced. My refusal to participate left me in darn slim company."

They reached the road and arranged themselves around Rankin in amphitheater formation. There was a heavy disappointment radiating from him that seemed almost physical. Like it might fall to the ground with an audible thud.

"I honestly don't know what God did with wicked souls before hell became . . . _hell,_ but when he saw that Lucifer had become irredeemably evil, he began to hand over the darkest human souls without a fight on the condition that we make them suffer."

Frank shrugged. "Okay, I may not want hell taking over _my_ turf, but shouldn't evil souls be punished?"

Rankin cringed. "I don't object to punishment, Irving. I'm a cop for goodness sake! The thing is, when you're talking about torture, it's not just the guy being tortured who suffers. A human soul may deserve hideous torment forever, but to be the one who does the tormenting? Endlessly?" He shuddered and hugged his shoulders. "I sat in my isolated corner and watched most of my family turn into full fledged monsters. Demons. I finally gave up hope and left along with a handful of others."

"How did you get your human body?" Asked Max.

"Lucifer wanted to be rid of us," Rankin said with a sad smile. "And our 'constant whining.' By then he had enough juice to create flesh. Not souls, but flesh. This body was created for me so it's mine fair and square. No possession." He drew and released a deep breath. "And that's the story of Carl Rankin the Wanderer."

Abbie raised her hand. "Did you try asking God to let you be an angel again?"

"No!" He replied in a tone sharp enough to cut steak. "I want no part in any of their _stuff. _Him or Lucifer. No sirree, I'll stick to Wandering."

"So you've rejected God . . . " Ichabod mused, "yet you go all out for Christmas parties?"

"Hey! I still love God," Rankin clarified. "We'll just always disagree on a lot of things, and I would never be happy going back to an existence with no personal choices. Or cinnamon bread. Besides, I _love_ how cheerful and generous everyone gets around the holidays, so my Christmas parties are a gift to myself and my friends. And whoever they invite," he shrugged. "I'm not picky."

"Alright, I'm satisfied." Jenny holstered her gun held out her hand. "Welcome to the Apocalypse Posse."

"A team name?" Rankin giggled as he shook her hand. "That is too precious! And listen, I'm happy to fight once things really get going, but until then would you mind if I stay on the outskirts? Don't hesitate to call if you need me!" He added swiftly. "It's just . . . I've always held onto that little shred of hope things would never come to this. I need time to brace myself."

No one had a problem with keeping him on the back burner.

His car was parked a quarter mile down the road so he shook everyone's hand, exchanged goodbyes, and off he went.

"This has been a surreal night." said Abbie.

"Quite." Ichabod agreed as he brought his arm around her shoulders. "And it's hardly eight o' clock. I feet very strongly that we should dedicate the rest of the evening to fun. Which begs the question, what does one do after something like this?"

Max and Kat shot one another a mischievous look.

The other four noticed.

"Nah," Frank waved off any and all suggestions. "I don't care how early it is, I'm dog tired."

"How about you three?" Katrina asked as Frank walked away.

"I'm gonna head back to the archives room," said Jenny as cracked her spine. "See if we have anything relating to former angels or demons. Because I didn't even know that was a thing." She punched her sister in the arm and headed for her car.

"And then there were two." said Max.

"What do you miscreants have in mind?" asked Ichabod.

Katrina elbowed Max and wagged her eyebrows. "Should we vouch?"

Max grinned. "Maybe."

Abbie let out a booming 'I don't know why this is funny, but it's funny' laugh. "Okay, seriously. What's up?"

"You'll see," said Kat. I'm texting you an address. Just meet us there in two hours. Wear something with . . . " she turned to Max as she sent the text and Ichabod's phone buzzed. "What word am I going for, sweetest?"

Max considered the question with downright academic seriousness. ". . . _Snazzy. _Think 1930s starlet and her secretly mob - affiliated fella."

"Perfect guidelines," declared Kat.

Forty five minutes later Abbie and Ichabod were rifling through their closet, both thinking the word 'snazzy' and the question 'what would Katrina pick?'

Abbie chose an emerald green dress dripping fringe. Ichabod went with a dark brown double breasted vest with a slightly lighter brown blazer. He even bothered to dig through the upper shelf of their closet for the fedora he'd purchased the previous year at Max's urging when Kim Lee branched out into tailoring and made him the suit as a birthday gift.

"Katrina and Max's guidance has more or less built the dressy side of our closet, hasn't it, dear?"

"Uh huh." Abbie nodded. "I never knew I could clean up this good."

"I never imagined Max dedicating a single brain cell to fashion." Said Ichabod as he tied his shoes. "Though it does suit his personality. The man has never lacked for flare." He crossed the room to help Abbie with her zipper. "Uh . . . my love?" he said as he peered into the open dress at a clearly un - pantied ass. "You see to have forgotten something."

"Oh no I haven't," Abbie purred, her voice soft and sultry. She leaned back and wriggled her body against his. "The Apocalypse cock blocked my honeymoon, and wherever we're going it sounds like the kind of place a starlet and her mob - affiliated fella could sneak in a little something naughty."

_This is bordering on role play, _Abbie thought with an excited tingle. _I've never wanted to try it, but so far it's fun._

"Mmmmmm," Ichabod rumbled approvingly as he zipped her up. "If only the side panel of my car was riddled with bullet holes." He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "The image would be complete."

They met Max and Kat on the older side of town. Not a historical district, but close.

Mister Pinstripes and Cane, and Missus Slinky White Ankle Length with Plunging Neck and Back.

_If Kat and Kim Lee dressed the country we'd be the prettiest nation on earth._ Was the general gist of both Ichabod and Abbie's thoughts.

"Follow us," Max looped his arm with Kat's, and lead the way down an alley. That turned onto a narrower alley. That took them down two flights of stairs below street level. Then they went a short distance down a path so narrow they had to walk single file. Kat lead the way.

Something struck Abbie as odd. She would expect such a back street byway to be scattered with litter, but ever since they'd turned off the main alley the ground was practically spotless.

Their journey ended at a barely discernible sliding door with a peephole.

Kat fished through her tiny handbag and withdrew a beaten up card roughly the size of a fortune teller's tarot.

"Pinstripe and Red," said Kat when the peephole slid open. "With two. We vouch."

"Pinstripe, you vouch?" Called out the woman behind the door. She sounded like a scratched record. A scratched record with a lifelong smoking habit.

"Yeah I vouch."

The door slid open and the party filed in.

Mr. and Mrs. Crane were dumbstruck.

The woman looked like she sounded. Middle aged, plain black long sleeved dress, a treasure chest worth of jewelry on her fingers wrists and neck , and a small monkey perched on her shoulder, its tan tail wrapped around her neck like a fuzzy necklace.

At first Crane was offended to see an animal seemingly pressed into use as a living prop - but then he noticed the creature was missing its left leg below the knee and his ire dulled somewhat.

"Watch the curls," she warned the monkey in reference to her pile of platinum pinned up at a tilt.

Ichabod figured his reaction to the monkey must have shone on his face because the woman winked and clicked her tongue at him. "Don't worry, hun. I found him as a baby in my travels and he imprinted on me like a baby duck. Loves it here, too. He pounces on my chest and shakes me if I sleep through my alarm. She held out her hand for a proper introduction. I'm Darla, this is Slouch. Y'may see him wandering around the club." She pointed to Ichabod's fedora. "Keep an eye on him if you do, he loves hats."

She finished the sentence just as Slouch darted down her arm and made a grab for the coveted accessory.

As Kat finished the introductions the sound of a drumroll rolled down the hall met with loud applause and whistles when it crashed to a finish.

Darla smiled and pointed them to the frosted glass door. "Right through there. We got trapeze and contortionists in front tonight, you'll have to ask Joey about his end."

Kat and Max escorted them down a wallpapered hallway, both soaking up the glory of Ichabod and Abbie's dumbfounded reactions. The massive main room featured high ceilings with steel bars running in various directions, all strung with either lights, the aforementioned trapeze swings, or tightropes. The floor layout was ballroom cabaret. A set of male twins performed on drums and sax respectively at the center of the room.

Sure enough, four trapeze artists swooped and overhead, leaping and handing one another off as they went.

"Crazy, right?" Max elbowed Ichabod. "They have a few troupes that come through regularly but the house performers - that's these guys - some of them are third or fourth generation acrobats and vaudeville people."

"What the hell else is down here and how does the entire town not know about it?" Abbie exclaimed, impressed but also baffled.

"Whoever financed the original construction had the bottom two levels put in specifically for smuggling." said Kat.

The foursome started to thread their way through meandering groups of patrons to find a free table.

"Then part of it got taken over by a Burlesque and underground whorehouse. Various gambling operations came and went through the east end. You really should go wander the halls for a bit while we're here. They're spider webbed all over the place."

"And!" Max piped in as they laid claim to a table. "If you see a bright pink dot on the wallpaper, that means you're spitting distance from a secret door."

"Uh - huh, great. I still don't get how I knew nothing about this place."

"Open secret if you know the right people," said Kat, half distracted with flagging down a waiter. "You can only get in with a card and there are only so many cards. I have no idea how many exactly, but guests only get in if -"

"If a card holder vouches for us," Ichabod finished.

"And Darla won't let you give away your card to anyone until she meets them and approves the hand off."

"Hot tip," Max whispered, leaning over the table. "Do not. Insult. The monkey."

Kat finally got a waiter's attention.

"Still don't understand why I haven't -"

"Darla is the sharpest business woman I've ever met. She bribes the right people to keep energy expenses off the books, shady vendors are surprisingly easy to find - might as well grow on trees - and she keeps a handful of witches on retainer to keep the place cloaked. If anyone without a card or a vouch walks in, all they'll see is a run down old building, and for some _mysterious reason_ not think to use our turf for their own purposes."

_Hence the clean alleys,_ thought Abbie.

"Darla doesn't give you a card unless she trusts you to keep your mouth shut and be really selective about who you vouch in. Only two people I've ever heard of were dumb enough to mess up and get their cards taken away. There's a wait list for cards. Until you get one you can only come in escorted by a vouching card carrier.

"Unsurprising," Ichabod mused as inspected the small menu. "This venue is spectacular, I can't imagine anyone being idiot enough to jeopardize membership."

After hours of enjoying the show and watching Slouch troll for unguarded hats, Ichabod and Abbie excused themselves on the pretense of exploring as Katrina had recommended. Ichabod left his hat in Max's custody, and they sauntered through the winding hallways wrapped together in an upright spoon formation. Ichabod left navigation entirely up to Abbie while he while he kissed and nuzzled her neck.

"I assume," he mumbled against the warm beat of her pulse. "You're keeping an eye out for pink dots?"

"Obviously," she sighed, crossing her arms over his around her midsection. "Think you can control yourself until then?"

"I make no promises," he whispered. "We mob types aren't known for our restraint in the company of beautiful women."

Abbie's throat ran dry. _I cannot believe how much this is working for me. Go with it, woman._

"Then it's lucky for you I'm just a young girl fresh off the bus from Iowa." She turned around in his arms and counted on him to pay enough attention not to run them into a wall. "All naive and trusting . . . " she swayed a bit as she walked, like they were slow dancing down the hallway. "My parents never warned me about big city men . . . "

They hadn't passed another soul in all their wandering, and Ichabod was on the verge of suggesting they chuck caution and do it against a wall when he spotted their ticket to privacy.

"Pink dot!" He cried.

"Thank fucking God!" Abbie broke character and headed for a large painting. It seemed the most likely cover for a secret passageway. She'd barely gone two steps when Ichabod smacked her ass.

"Crass language for a wholesome country girl!" he said as he joined her in inspecting the painting's gaudy filigreed frame.

Abbie shot him a sly look and batted he eyelids. "The city's been a _terrible_ influence."

"Mm - hm." Ichabod smirked. "Or perhaps it's all an act."

She leaned down to check out the bottom of the frame, and Ichabod couldn't help diverting a bit of his attention to the elegant curve of her back. He ran his index finger between her shoulder blades and down the long line of her zipper.

"Perhaps you're a secret seductress out to ruin me."

Abbie didn't know what part of the frame she pressed on to make the panting/door click open, but it did. It wasn't actually a door, just it a big rectangular hole behind the painting, the base of it juuuuust low enough for Abbie to step over without assistance. She switched on the tall lamp next to the entrance the second her feet hit the floor.

The room was littered with threadbare furniture, empty bed frames, and several beaten up travel chests. The kind people used to take on long trips.

Ichabod sealed the entrance behind them and discarded his blazer on the floor.

"Why would I wanna ruin you Mr. Crane?" Abbie panted as she backed her husband into a wall and ran her hands over his chest. "When you've been so good to me?" She undid his top vest button. "Showing me around and all . . . "

He reached down and hiked up the hem of her dress to mid thigh. "Well, I have many rivals, you know." he brushed against her parted lips as he spoke. A loose kiss with soft dialog. "Ruthless men . . . it's an occupational hazard . . . you could be one of them. Mmmmm," he sighed as she began to rock her hips against him. ". . . A kept woman working under orders."

By then the sparkling beaded fringe of her dress hung hardly low enough to preserve her (supposed) small town modesty. A wisp higher and all of Iowa would gasp at her shameless lack of panties.

"Are you calling me a _prostitute_ Mr. Crane?" she asked as she took off his tie and unfastened his pants in record time.

He met her eyes and grinned knowingly, as if he could see puppet strings attached to her elbows. "That's a strong term. _Bought off_ is more accurate. You have to admit -" he hissed when her hand closed around his uncharacteristically patient arousal. "You do seem to know your way around a man."

She shrugged and affected a tone of pristine innocence even as she stroked his shaft. "I must be a natural talent, then -" she dove her tongue into his mouth for a quick, firm kiss. "Cause it's pure as snowflakes between these legs."

He gasped and twitched in her hand.

She tipped her head back and teased him with the false promise of another, deeper kiss as she purred, "You're just a wolf who's taking advantage."

Ichabod let go of her dress in favor of running his hands up her back. "Is that so?" He pulled down the zipper and traced delicate lines over her skin as the fabric fell open bit by bit. "And how would I manage to do that? Corrupt a snowflake?" Without warning he took her occupied hand by the wrist and shook her off, then spun them around to switch places and pin her against the wall. "What snowflake allows a man to get _this far,_ Miss Mills?" He asked as two fingers slid inside her.

_Miss Mills! _As much as she loved being Mrs. Crane, something about Miss Mills added to their scenario.

"I'm - ahhhhhhhhh, oh . . . you've plied me with alcohol and charm and - AH!"

He lifted her up the wall and pressed between her legs. Rather than thrust, he looped his fingers through the straps of her dress and slid them off her shoulders with ease.

First the right strap.

"I'm not . . . " she writhed against him.

Then the left strap.

"I'm not thinking clearly."

"A likely story," Ichabod whispered as he pet and massaged her breasts.

She drew deep breaths, more and more tantalized every time he rocked his hips close enough to _almost_ dip inside.

"I'm all, _ooooooooh_ . . . I'm so lost and confused."

He attacked her mouth with vigorous confidence and happily answered her every moan as they worked together to remove his shirt and vest.

"Devious temptress or no . . ." he spoke between quick breathless kisses. "I mean to have you either way . . . " he carefully controlled the motion of his hips and enjoyed the response his refusal to _thrust_ elicited from her.

Mewling and unspoken pleas.

He lavished her clit and core with ardent attention, but he was resolved not to enter her until he knew she was right on the edge of becoming _angry_. When dark fire filled her eyes but she went on bucking against him, wet and demanding.

"So if you do have any virtue to value . . . " he scissored his fingers inside her and tended her clit with his thumb in firm upward strokes. "It is yours declare and leave . . . ."

She whimpered and bucked, legs shaking.

He leaned close to her ear.

"I haven't the slightest care for it."

He was met with no response but nails raking his back.

_We've arrived._

His free hand slammed into the wall, the other gripped her knee, and he relinquished any hint of restraint. Handing it over on a tarnished, libidinous platter.

He was greeted with glorious wet compliance as he thrust. Well worth the wait.

_It always is _he thought, gasping and crying out every time he felt her walls tighten and shudder around him.

"Shall the lady -" he rasped, a thin sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. "Be returning - ah! _God! _. . . to Iowa . . . promptly?" His voice hitched at the clench of her. Unexpected. He usually had a warning signal, like a tiny quiver or slight change in her rhythm.

"Fuck Iowa!" Abbie replied with a growl, angling herself to coax him deeper inside.

She was jarred out of the moment when the sound of raucous laughter came tumbling down the hall outside their hidden nook. At least three people. They were in the distance, but loud and drawing closer.

"Shit!"

Ichabod merely slowed his thrust somewhat and massaged her breasts as if to soothe her worry.

"They're making plenty of noise." He nipped and darted his tongue along her bottom lip.

A burst of random trumpet notes played, like a player just messing around, followed by a chorus of bravos and applause.

He flashed her a daring smile. "We could probably _fuck Iowa_ at the top of our lungs in here and draw no notice. Or at worst -"

"AH!" She cried out when he thrust deep, stilled, and stroked her clit at a brisk pace.

"At _worst_ win a round of applause."

_Shoot it down, Abbie,_ she insisted of herself. _Shoot the idea down. NOW ABBIE!_

"Mmmmmmm," she moaned into his mouth, returning a kiss that tasted like a silent dare. "I'm so close, Crane," she whispered as another burst of notes rang out and the voices grew more distinct. "Make me cum."

Ichabod threw his whole body into pleasing her. She buried her face in his neck and clung tight as he took her closer, and closer, and closer. By the time she reached her crescendo she couldn't have cared less if the (trio?) now charging around and shouting in _their_ hallway barged in playing kazoos.

_They'd either have manners and leave, or be too drunk to care,_ she decided, emboldened by the rising tide of orgasm.

The (trio?) was so loud neither she nor Ichabod bothered to muzzle themselves that much. They held back from thunderous noise of course, but the effort stopped there.

Ichabod grit his teeth and hissed as she went wild around him, surging and pulsing against his length while he rode her through every shiver. He slowed to a lazy roll of the hips while the voices and trumpeting of their unseen friends faded into the distance.

Then he dropped to his knees.

"What?" She panted as she slumped against the wall.

"That was for the devious temptress," he explained, pumping his straining hardness with an air of self praise. "If you were such a woman I'd have this in your mouth immediately." He chuckled. "But in case you are a sweet little country girl and I've rudely polluted your innocence," he stopped stroking and ran his hands up and down her legs with a tender touch, "this is how a proper gentleman handles a lady he wishes to please."

Her dress hung so loose at her hips that Ichabod barely had to touch the thing to bring it down to her ankles.

"Hopefully you'll consider this an adequate apology for my selfish conquest," he whispered before lapping his tongue through her sex with increasing pressure.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and her gaze fell to her engagement and wedding rings.

_Husband. Lottery. Jackpot._

The thought was accompanied by a sharp gasp when he hiked her left leg over his shoulder and and latched onto her already well serviced center as if his life depended on it. Like he was indeed making up for something.

_And this is just fake apology sex,_ she thought with a soft giggle. _I can't wait til you start a kitchen fire, baby!_

The rest of her thoughts for the next several minutes were focused on nothing but the electrical storm ebbing and flowing through her body.

She could even feel her pulse against his lips.

He mewled into her slick flesh as cum spilled over his hand.

After he got himself off and wiped his hand on the sleeve of his nearby shirt_ (I'll just keep my blazer on the rest of the evening.),_ he dusted kisses over the soft geography of her belly, one hand caressing whatever part of her body it roamed to, the other gently pleasuring her clit. He reveled in her low, long moaning. Her quick gasps. Shrill cries. All while the writhe of her hips went from languid to forceful.

She was bucking into his hand on the verge of total release when he kissed and nuzzled his way back to her clit.

"Mmmmmmm," he moaned against her most sensitive flesh and his fingers went looking for the right places to push and stroke inside her. "Mmmmmmmmm."

Abbie flattened her shoulders against the wall and cried out a mix of random words and warbling noises as she came.

The view from his vantage point of crouching between he legs was spectacular. Expanse of dark skin. Swell of breasts as they rose and fell with her uneven breathing. And her face. Shining, lips wet, eyelids fluttering . . .

_What's a stronger word than spectacular? _

He zipped himself up and helped her slide to the floor when it was over. They spent some time sitting there cuddled together before rallying the energy to return to Max and Kat.

They heard the rowdy bunch coming back their way.

"Oh boy." Abbie whispered.

"Shall we wait for them to pass, or just step out?"

She raised an eyebrow.

Ichabod shrugged. "There's absolutely zero chance we're the first pair to take advantage of these rooms, seeing a couple emerge from one ought hardly be noteworthy."

Abbie crossed her arms and smirked, amused and curious to see whether or not he was bluffing.

He wasn't bluffing.

"Heeeeeeeeeey!" The tipsy trio laughed as the couple stepped out.

"Another successful patrol!" Cried the man wearing the gaudy crown.

The guy dressed like a extra from _Grease_ held up their hands like they'd just won a championship boxing match, and the squatty dark haired bearded one took what looked at first glance like a pad of tardy excuse slips from high school out of his pocket.

"Are we getting a citation or something?" Asked Abbie as Mister Beardy withdrew a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled his signature.

"No!" said the greaser. "We patrol the hallways all loud and stuff, and any couple brassy enough to step outta their little nook right in front of us - or, y'know, just gives us a shout - gets a certificate for free drinks."

"Your names please?" inquired the bearded man.

Ichabod put his arm around Abbie's shoulders. "Ichabod and Abbie Crane. Newlyweds."

"Ah!" The crowned man smiled. "You gotta add that on the certificate, Pauly." He winked at them. "Our head chef Marcel likes to treat the Newlyweds to a little something special."

Their treat was a delicious four cheese fondu pot.

Slouch got ahold of Ichabod's hat three times during the evening, each time handing it off to one of the trapeze artists. The crowd seemed to think it was part of the act, and they loved it.

Ichabod and Abbie Crane were on Darla's wait list long before the end of the evening.


	14. Gifts

**A long chapter, and smutsmutsmutsmutty - smut. And some plot stuff. I mentioned the smut, right?**

**The way the outline looks in my head right now, there are two more chapters in this series. Chapter titles "The Storm," and (tentatively) "Everyone Gives."**

**BUT! I do have another Ichabbie story taking shape in my mind. Right now I think it's a one shot, but that's what I thought when I posted CH.1 of this series, so who knows. I'm pretty sure it'll be a T rating. Still some sexy times but less graphic. And Ichabbie romance aside, it will stick close to the show's canon. **

"Cavalli the mystic!" Jenny cried from her perch in a secret alcove she'd discovered above one on the bookshelves. She liked to do work up there at much as possible. ("Better vantage point in case of attack.")

Crane agreed. Ichabod had first hand experience with the benefits of high ground, and on Simon's end of things the same logic applied when tranking a bear or what have you in the wild. Whenever possible, but difficult to reach.

Anyhow, she skittered down the ladder waving a small scroll in her hand.

"I finally found something about Wanderers! The scroll is in Latin but I checked my translation four times, it's solid."

Ichabod, Abbie, and Frank gathered around her. Max and Kat were dealing with demon issues in Brazil, as the Apocalypse had finally expanded beyond Sleepy Hollow.

"He was a Monk at Eymsham Abbey in the 11th century, and he wrote this down at the end of a month long period of silence capped off with a one week fast. Okay . . . it opens with a bunch of stuff that's already happened, then this:

_"And a Wanderer shall be discovered in plain sight, found in the 5th year of battle, well hidden in his un - warlike nature. He shall emerge from a dark place, and herald with his coming a half year's rest. Great caution now to the armies of God: though the demons do plot, thou shouldst not advance, but rather, rest well. Whatever the wisdoms of all wars gone by, The End is a different beast. Heaven doth not wish a defense built of too wearied soldiers half surrendered in spirit, so heed thee well our word. Take joy and libation whilst prophecy allows.""_

"Hm . . . " Abbie mused.

"Yeah I've got a big pile of Cavalli's scrolls up there, I found them in a box in a chest in the cavern under the trapdoor under the couch."

"Damn!" exclaimed Frank. "When you say you'll find something or die trying you do not fuck around!"

"Why were they so hidden, I wonder?" Ichabod mused.

Jenny shrugged. "Who knows. It was mixed in with a bunch of other crap. Maybe the chest was for stuff your 1700s Secret War buddies didn't take seriously but held onto just in case? Like, a crazy homeless lady once grabbed my arm and gave me a pair of beaten up boots without laces and swore up and down they'd protect me. I took 'em to humor her and when I was walking away I heard her tell another person that her scarf ate bugs and geometry. I'm _basically_ sure she was a bucket of nuts, I've still got the shoes crammed away somewhere in my apartment."

"What's the history on Cavalli?" asked Abbie.

Jenny sighed. "The Eymsham Abbey kicked him out because not all Monasteries went in for mystical hoohaa, and Brother Cavalli looooooved him some hoohaa. But all the stuff he prophesied to happen before this _has_ happened, so I think he's legit."

She looked at Ichabod and Abbie. "Even you two falling in love. Not necessarily getting together, but feelings - wise he called it. I've read nothing else that even hinted . . . " she unfurled the scroll another few feet and scanned for the passage about them.

"Here we go:

_For now and all time past and future, Heaven's most formidable weapon shall be love. Devotion absolute. The bond of sun to earth. The bond of blood to body. This weapon hell may never hope to rival, and so such a seed shall be planted between our two chosen, to do with as they will.""_

"Well . . . " Ichabod clasped his hands behind his back. "I stand convinced. Now what to do with six months of freedom?"

"I'm spending every second with Macy!" Frank declared without hesitation. "The End of Days has seriously diminished my Family Time."

Jenny's shoulders squirmed. "Outside of incarceration I'm not used to staying in one place for long. I might bounce around."

Ichabod and Abbie couldn't decide. The conversation followed them home.

They made tea and snuggled up on the couch to parse through options.

"Honestly?" Abbie said as she blew on her piping hit tea. "All the worst times of my life happened in Sleepy Hollow."

Crane heaved a huge sigh of relief. "I am so glad you said it first! Us notwithstanding I can count the good times on one hand. Small pleasures, yes, but real, standout Good Times? Not many."

"Quiet time snuggled up here?" Abbie suggested.

Crane trailed his fingers up and down her arm. "Don't take this the wrong way, but . . ."

"It'd get boring," Abbie agreed before he finished the sentence. "I have not forgotten the time we were snowed in for a thousand years. Fun for a few days and then," she shuddered at the memory.

"Of course we do have six months at our disposal."

They'd spent the last five years measuring life in day to day terms. They both kept forgetting how long a time six months was.

Ichabod sipped his tea cautiously. "Though I suppose there is still your Police job to consider."

Dammit! She thought. The prospect of total freedom tasted like Soul Candy. Remembering she was still pinned down to an obligation felt like someone swiping her ice cream cone. _According to that Monk's scroll things are going to get SERIOUSLY ugly after this . . . what are the odds I'll be able to hold down a job AND . . ._ a seductive idea appeared in her mind. _I really want that six months!_

"Honey? . . . What would you think if I quit the force?"

"Are you serious?"

"I mean if I survive the Apocalypse I'll go back, but this could _literally_ be our last taste of happy life for years."

Ichabod opened his mouth with the words 'yes, but' on the tip of his tongue, but then realized he had no follow up. In any other circumstance the suggestion would be too extreme. Too reckless. But standing on the precipice of the most brutal war the world in history, insanity became sanity, recklessness became sensible.

_To do anything else but cut ourselves free of all tethers would be foolish._

"Do it!"

Abbie was giddy with excitement, and the next day when she handed in her two weeks notice the idiom 'walking in air' made perfect sense to her. She had to look down to make sure her feet were touching the floor.

They spent those two weeks planning a loose itinerary. (One ought to leave room for spur of the moment ideas.) The only thing they locked down solid was a nonrefundable two week stay in Yellowstone National Park. Simon had been there several times so it was one of the things Crane had always wanted to show her. In fact, the only reason he and Abbie had Honeymooned so close to home instead of going to Yellowstone was specifically because if the Apocalypse. So they could be home in a few hours if something came up. With that threat temporarily shut down, he could finally watch her eyes light up at the sight of boiling clay earth, geysers, buffalo standing inches from the car, and a hundred other things the geographical wonder had to offer.

Their less iron clad plans were to at some point hit:

The Grand Canyon (which neither had ever seen)

The Hoh Rainforest

The Metropolitan Opera and Guggenheim Museum

Max was going the fly them over the Everglades

and of course:

Visit Simon's friends in Maine

Ichabod's dearest friends were either people he saw every day, or people long since dead. Having decades of great, vivid memories with people who were still alive was yet another thing to love about having Simon.

They also decided to begin their hiatus with a barbecue just for the Apocalypse Posse before they all scattered into the world.

Max and Kat also planned on heading to Maine, but not til later (they'd been up to visit for a few brief weekend stays, so Kat had already met the gang, but Ichabod and Abbie's attempts to visit were somehow always thwarted.) Max was the one who first realized the problem of he and Abbie visiting Simon's friends.

"You usually call him Crane," he said to Abbie. "You bust out Simon every once in a while when he's basically _all Simon, _but it's rare."

Abbie looked at Crane. "What do you think, baby?"

He shrugged. "Back in Maine, surrounded by all my old friends . . . I imagine his personality will be forefront, shouldn't that be reminder enough to call me . . . " he trailed off, chewed his lip and thought about it for a moment. "No, if we plan to stay the week it's likely you'll slip at some point. Especially if we hit Sweeny's Tavern, and I can promise you we'll hit the tavern at least once. It's one of my usual haunts."

"Okay," said Max. "So we need a reason for her to just call you Crane. I have a cunning plan!"

Crane grinned. "Of course you do."

Max pointed to Abbie. "You grew up with a super creepy Uncle named Simon and calling your boyfriend the same name makes your skin crawl."

"Yeah, but why Crane instead?"

"Hmmmmmmmm . . . that's aaaaaaaaa . . . " The wheels in his head were turning at full speed. "Got it again! I am the problem solver!" He turned to Crane. "Your - Simon's middle name is Wycliffe, right?"

"Mm - hm," Crane nodded.

"Cool. Guess what, now you've got a million middle names along with Wycliffe, and Crane is one of them. You come from one of those old school British families that shoves as many family names onto their kids as they possibly can because _heritage."_

"Why have I never mentioned the other million?"

"You're not -" and this is true for both of you - "you're not big on all that heritage stuff and Crane was the one Abbie picked to call you. Yeah. The rest of them need to be horrendous. I'm the only one who knows this because let's face it our friends will never believe there's a single thing about you I don't know."

"True," Abbie and Crane said simultaneously.

"All right then," said Crane. "Let's pick the names. We need Wycliffe and Crane. I think another three plus West is adequately ridiculous without going beyond the realm of plausibility."

Many choices were thrown around. Max wrote down the best options.

"Bleckly," Crane offered. That _is_ a family name on Ichabod's side.

"Gedrin," was Kat's suggestion. "Actually my great grandfather's first name."

Frank raised his hand and finished chewing up a rib before speaking. "My mom had a cousin who married a Yakerman."

Other choices written down but discarded were Ickle, Hepsubris (terrible, but a mouthful and a little too terrible), Lunkley, Vorelip . . . the list went on. It turned into hours of fun. Listing awful family names went on well after they settled on the hideous:

Simon Yakerman Wycliffe Crane Bleckly West.

Over campfire s'mores (Kat's idea) they discussed what made Abbie's Uncle Simon so creepy, and a few stories.

"The gang is big on stories," Max assured her.

"Pervy is the obvious one," said Jenny as she pulled charred skin off her marshmallow and ate it.

"Criminal record?" Frank offered. "Petty crime?"

"Let's throw in terrible hygiene for good measure," Crane suggested cheerily.

They concocted a few good stories, which Abbie stood up and rehearsed as if indeed telling them about her gross, pervy, criminal Uncle.

"This one time when I was seven he showed up at the house fresh off an eight month stint in jail. I opened the door and he got me in this huge bear hug. Picked me up and shook me, all of it. The only thing worse than his BO was his breath. All his front teeth were rotted out too, it was disgusting. My parents always fought when he visited because my Mom was into the 'do anything for family' policy, and my Dad didn't think it should apply to criminal drunks who pissed on the front lawn and constantly made loud comments about the 'fine asses,' of teenagers even in public."

Standing ovation. Uncle Simon Bell (Abbie's mom's maiden name) was officially the grossest relative ever without assigning him offenses for which he'd have been locked up for life. She rehearsed the story several times, and Crane committed it to memory as well.

Two days later while they were packing their bags Abbie remembered she and Simon weren't married as far as his friends knew. She looked at her ring finger, made a quick pouty face, and started to work the wedding ring off her finger.

"What are you doing?!" Cried Ichabod as though she were setting fire to a kitten.

"What?" She shrugged. "Except for Pamela they don't even know we're engaged. And we don't have time to pull an Abbie and Simon wedding out of our asses. Not if we wanna do any of the other stuff . . . "

"No. But I can't bear the thought of taking mine off or seeing without yours for a whole week.

Ichabod sat down on the corner of the bed and pulled her into his lap, breathing in the smell of her while he pondered the problem.

_There it is._

He smiled and kissed her neck. "We eloped. It's why we're visiting, in fact. Instead of a big wedding we chose to surprise the pants off everyone and then go Honeymooning all across the country."

Abbie returned his smile.

_Aren't you smart?_

"Keeping our lies close to the truth, you haven't traveled much and I want to show you all there is to see." He scrunched his nose like a playful boy. "We could even register somewhere."

She put her arms around his neck and laughed. "I have always wanted a bread maker."

"Mmmmm," Crane imagined the smell of fresh bread filling the cabin.

"It's one of the few great memories I have of mom." she said as she hoisted herself out of his lap and zipped up her suitcase. "She used to bake bread almost every weekend be she went all . . . . okay. It's settled! Grab your bag honey."

Crane looked at the clock. "We've got hours, dearest."

"Oh no we don't." She gave him a little peck on the cheek and winked. "We're taking detour."

"Are we really?" He said, his smile growing wider. "Might you have something scandalous planned Mrs. Crane?"

"There's a blindfold waiting for you in the glove compartment, and that's all the info you get for now Mr. Crane."

_Stay calm, _he warned his groin. _Mustn't waste energy._

He realized as they loaded their luggage onto the trunk Abbie was wearing a shirt that, while not provocative, leant itself to braless wear.

_Clearly we've reached the stage of a relationship wherein casual undress is indeed casual unless otherwise provoked. _He always _admired_ such sights as her stepping out of the shower, or climbing into bed naked during humid summer nights, but it did not always stir up a lustful reaction, or pull him from other thoughts.

The realization did not depress him. Honestly the fact that he'd only just realized it threeish years into their romance spoke volumes about the quality of their sex life overall. Also they were fresh off a Honeymoon, a time of naturally heightened sexual awareness.

_And off we are again on another one._ He thought with excitement he fastened the blindfold snug over his eyes. _We must strive to make this time as much like the beginning as possible._

Abbie was silent durning the drive. Ichabod wondered if the silence was part of her tease, as it left him with nothing to think about but where they might be going. The sound of the engine, slows and stops, and winding turns had him hypnotized as whats and wheres floated through his mind like tiny rafts.

He was so lost in reverie that he gasped and jerked his legs in surprise when Abbie's hand suddenly cupped his less than half hardness (he'd done a remarkable job of maintaining control even by his standards.)

He drew a shaky breath as she administered a firm massage.

"Abbie," he whispered.

No reply, but she squeezed him gently.

_So this is your game . . ._

"Please tell me we're almost there!"

Her hand started sliding up and down over the line if his constricted erection as she massaged. The technique fell midway between rubbing and stroking.

He considered asking permission to unbelt and unzip, but discarded the idea, certain she wouldn't answer.

The car slowed and the ride turned bumpy, uneven. Gravel crunched under the wheels.

_Are we going to the spot from our last. . . no, this drive was much longer._

Abbie assisted him out of the car and guided him to sit down on the hood. When she removed his blindfold he found himself on a tall hill looking down on all of Sleepy Hollow.

"I thought we should take a last look before saying goodbye for six months."

"It's a lovely view."

The nose of the car barely nudged out of the treeline, parked perhaps twenty feet from a steep decline. They walked hand in hand to a spot midway between the car and the edge of the hill.

"Home sweet home." Crane mumbled, his mouth pressed to Abbie's head. "It may fall to pieces over the next years."

"Nope!" Abbie asserted herself in front of him and locked him in a determined stare. "No Apocalypse talk allowed. No prophecies, predictions, fates, talismans or trinkets, and we've never seen a Monk's scroll in our lives."

She held his sides and pulled him flush against her. "We are going to embrace the Simon of it, and for the next six month you and I are on a cross country Honeymoon, okay Crane?"

"Understood." He put his arms around her and laced his hands at her lower back. "Now . . . what do you intend to do to me in this wonderfully isolated spot?" His eyes narrowed and his hands moved lower to grip her ass. "Or do you not have specific plans?"

"Oooooooooh," Abbie reached behind her and pried his hands off her ass as though he were a presumptuous prom date pushing his luck. "I have plans. And I think _you,"_ she wiggled against his body. "Are are going to like them."

She ran her hands up his shirt and tilted her head back, cueing him to kiss her. A series of feathering touches as she guided him backward to sit on the hood of the car.

_I like you this way, _Abbie thought. _You're eye level._

"May I . . ." he went on feathering down her neck, "perhaps . . . " kisses over her collarbone. " . . . Well, the pants are constricting, you see." His fingers slipped beneath her shirt and played lightly at her waist. "They distract me." He sighed and squirmed closer to her, her body arranged between his legs. "And of course anything short of my full attention is less than you deserve."

She said nothing in response, but arched forward, a move that took his hands naturally closer to the summit of her breasts.

It both helped and hurt. True, it was a clear invitation to enjoy her wonderful flesh - but just the invitation sent a jolt of arousal through his body that made every cell in his straining hardness beg for the talent of her hands, or his hands. _Something!_

"I think you need to relax," said Abbie, her voice like silken sex as she stepped away and went around to the trunk.

_TEASE! YOU MONSTROUS TEASE OF A WIFE!_

She returned with a green bottle bearing a familiar label and one odd looking cup.

"It's bamboo," she said with a chuckle. "And this," she held up the bottle, "is thirty year old Laghauhulin." She stepped close enough to dart her tongue over his lips. "I've had it hidden in the cellar. I was saving it for the day when we win . . . that thing that's not happening, but I'll get another bottle."

Even in his 1700s days when he rubbed elbows with wealthy and powerful men, many of whom admired him greatly, he'd never been offered such a decadent scotch.

_My most desired woman holding my most desired spirit._

She handed him the bottle and held out the cup. "Pour.

He poured two fingers, or what looked like two fingers, and set the bottle down next to the car.

She swirled the liquid around and sniffed. "Mm. Smells amazing." She took down a first sip gracefully.

He stared at the shine on her lips, feeling both blessed and tortured.

Abbie grinned wickedly and tossed back the rest, a fair bit of it spilling from the cup to her chest.

"Oh damn." she purred. "I spilled."

She set the cup down next to the bottle and yanked Crane into a kiss in practically the same instant.

_The beautiful taste Abbie, the caramel smoke of fine scotch, and I have them both together._

"You have to," he whined without completely breaking the kiss. "You have to let me, please -"

Before he even finished the sentence Abbie's nimble fingers were unbuckling his belt.

When she had him unbuckled he took over, withdrawing and stroking himself with one hand while the other traveled up her shirt to cup her breast as he licked and sucked thin trails of scotch from her chest. He pulled back just long enough to take the shirt off before returning to drink in more of all she had to offer. Skin, tongue, soft contours, hardened nipples. The tinge of scotch only served to underline the delicacy of her body. So grand that she could stand toe to toe with such a luxury and prove equally intoxicating.

She got her pants open and guided his free hand inside.

"Mmmmmmm," he moaned as he went on stroking himself and pleasured her.

_Multitasking!_

"Hmmt," Abbie mumbled urgently into his mouth.

He could tell by the motion of her tongue that she was trying to speak.

"Pardon?" He whispered, settling for small shallow kisses.

"Shirt." she panted, fisting her hands in the soft cotton fabric of his shirt with an aggressive upward tug.

In the name of good manners he finished the job for her.

"Back." The simple command was accompanied by two hands on his chest, determined to push him down on the hood of the car.

He put up no fight, but made a sad face when she stayed put. Her half undressed body in full view but out of reach. It got worse when she shimmied his pants down beyond his hips, leaving no hint of fabric to restrain him. And worse still when she took a step back and slid both hands into her open pants.

"You too." she sighed.

He propped himself up just high enough to see the whole show. Her pants were tight enough to see her thigh muscles react happily to the work of her own hands.

"You are phenomenally talented, it cannot be said enough," he mused as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his already greedy firmness.

_Imagine the wet of her, _it seemed to whisper, _how easily she'd take you . . ._

He ignored the impulse and went on stroking.

_The heat . . . the pulse . . ._

"Ooooooooh." he moaned, engrossed in the sight of her plunging her fingers into herself and gasping with pleasure.

_Switch your places, get her pants off and take, take, TAKE!_

Maybe it was the fact that they were poised on the brink of a freedom even their Honeymoon hadn't afforded them - but suddenly it felt as though he'd never seen her pleasure herself before. Seen her naked before. Watched her cum before.

He stayed where he was, the pace of his stroke unleashed from conscious mind as he rerouted every ounce of his discipline to ignoring base male instinct.

The only experience that came close to this in terms of his emotional response was the the night he left the cabin. How quickly he failed to defeat the longing to be with her right away. Despite his upbringing and it's stern emphasis on propriety. Dignified behavior.

A whole set of rules was cast aside as the need to have her in every sense of the word found him running through miles of frigid, icy weather. The opposite of Dante's hell, but even one more night without her, he felt certain, would have been an equal torment.

Back in the present, when she finally stepped close and reached for him he lunged, his arms rejecting the concept of _too close_ as they wrapped around her and roamed the contours of her back. Then one hand slid around her hips and joined hers beneath the wet fabric of panties.

Abbie knew without his prompting that he had the better angle to reach inside her, so she diverted her attention to the rest of her center. She pressed a middle finger firm against her clit while the other hand massaged and rubbed the expanse of slippery flesh below it.

"There!" She cried when he curled a finger and struck a place that lit up her body and left her brain on total darkness.

"Th - th - th - ah! AH! AH!

Total. Darkness.

He angled his right arm at a tilt across her back so she was free to disregard gravity and balance while her her muscles spasmed erratically.

He was always ambitious when it came to their sex life, (Or _almost_ always. They worked and fought hard, so there were times that a quickie and a snuggle was all they could muster. At least it was closeness.) but this orgasm looked and felt like . . .

_Like back to the beginning . . . _he thought. _Better even, since he was so much more familiar with her body. _With four years of practice he knew that when she came with anything close to this sort of enthusiasm, he could keep her there for quite a while. He flung himself off the hood of the car, swooping her tiny body along with him and lavished her neck with endless unwieldy kisses as he strode to the back of the car.

_Blanket in the trunk, _his brain just barely managed to remind him. _We keep a blanket in the trunk for. . . um . . . emergencies or something?_

It was already on the ground.

_You thought of it when you fetched the scotch, you clever creature!_

_Just a few more seconds!_ he assured himself with an inward needy groan while he set her down, rubbing and flicking at her clit for a moment to ensure she remained in the throes of climax.

_One second, two seconds -_

His impatient mind tortured him as he took care of the rest of their clothes.

_Three seconds, four seconds -_

They cried out in unison when he entered her, gripping her thigh like an anchor and dropping his head to the curve of her neck.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh -" he pant/grunted as she clutched tight around him, the violent shiver reducing him to an animal state. For a second he was connected to a whole lineage of sex. The formless concept of sex.

The muscles in her neck pulled taught, mimicking the muscles inside her minus the rhythmic shudder.

There was no holding on.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah - _God! Abbie!_ You - you -" the spill of his release seemed to go on and on.

Panting.

Gasping.

Crying out again and again.

_"Mine!" _He declared, throaty and rasping as he rattled to a finish.

Meanwhile, Abbie was on the ride down. The lazy, sweat - sheened stroll back to normal.

"Mmmmmmm," Crane sighed as he went slack and lowered himself to rest on her body, his one hand between her legs gently stroking the length of her well pleasured sex. He ceased and lifted his head from her chest when he felt her fingers thread through his hair at the base of his neck.

"Hello." he murmured with what little voice he could muster.

"Uh - huh."

He kissed the tip of her nose and rolled over next to her.

After a moment's rest she propped up on her elbows and looked around.

"Are we searching for something Mrs. Crane?"

"Yeah. Our trophies."

He giggled sleepily, petting her back. "There must be committee we can speak to."

They spent another hour sitting on the hood of the car, sharing a celebratory scotch and gazing down at Sleepy Hollow.

A few hours after that they arrived in Maine.

Five seconds after they dropped their bags in Allan and Emily's guest room, they were sitting in Sweeny's Tavern surrounded by Simon's friends. The pair quickly zipped through their 'why Abbie calls him Crane' story.'

"Yakerman? Really?" asked Tyler. "As in _Yak?"_

Crane took a generous sip of his beer. "You see why I whittled it down to Wycliffe."

Tyler shuddered. "Remind me to call my parents and thank them for 'Morris.'"

Abbie and Crane clasped hands and threaded their fingers together. She beamed at him. He beamed at her. They had loosely choreographed the following announcement.

"We have bigger news." Crane grinned.

"You're moving back to town?!" Emily guessed.

"Sorry no. Abbie and I eloped!" He took their respective wedding rings out of his pocket and placed them on both their fingers.

"Simon!" Allan shouted.

A squatty guy named Chance elbowed Emily. "I told you that was an engagement ring!"

"I don't believe this!" cried Tyler. "Is Max okay? Is he devastated?"

Simon tossed a fistful of pretzels at the man. He caught one in his mouth.

"I promise the distress was quite minimal. Kat takes good care of him." Simon said with a grin. "He does insist on a boy's night out every other Saturday or there's hell to pay, but aside from that." he shrugged.

"Can I see?" Emily held out a hand, eager to inspect Abbie's topaz ring.

"You never struck me as a 'let's elope' man, Simon." said Allan. "More of a . . . 'I want everyone to gather around and worship my bride' guy."

"Oh that was his first suggestion." Abbie gushed, squeezing her husband's hand. "As soon as I said yes he was thinking I needed most beautiful gown we could afford, most popular wedding venue in town - it's this amazing historic church surrounded by an orchard. Couples practically _mud wrestle_ each other every year to book it in Spring when the trees bloom. (True.)"

Crane grinned. "But over the next days as we tossed around Honeymoon ideas we both realized how little Abbie had traveled and how many places I still wanted to see."

Abbie took over. "So we decided screw a ceremony, we're gonna spend our wedding budget on the Honeymoon!"

The whole group cheered and drummed the table.

_I love these people! _Thought Abbie.

Tyler stood up and whistled. "Hey Devon, another round here! We got Newlyweds!" He pointed to Simon and Abbie.

"Simon!?" Yelled the shaggy blonde bartender. "No shit! Yeah, on the house, aaaaaaaand . . . be right back!" He sprinted to the door that led to the back room.

Abbie raised her eyebrow.

"Don't look at me." Crane shrugged. "Devon is often bizarre and inscrutable."

It was another few minutes before he emerged.

"Okay!" He came running to the table with an armload of stuff. "Rounds comin' in a minute, but first!" He held up a black trench coat with a piece of paper reading 'just married' taped to the back. Followed by a white men's blazer with a piece of paper also reading 'just married' taped to the back. "You'll have to roll up the sleeves," he said to Abbie, "but there ya go. And for you guys," he addressed to the rest of the party and dumped out a small brown bag filled with a mix of kazoos, noisemakers, and those things that explode with confetti and streamers when you pull the string.

Abbie and Crane couldn't stop laughing as they pulled on their respective just married jackets. His sleeves were a tad to small for his arms, and hers were rolled up. It was perfect.

At least a thousand ridiculous pictures and vids were taken.

_I'm in Honeymoon Heaven, _Abbie thought a half hour later when Devon presented them with the additional gift of two free plates of wings.

"This one's your standard buffalo, and this darker one is _my_ recipe. House made every morning." He winked at Abbie as he set the plates down. "You strike me as a wing girl for some reason."

Crane side eyed him with mock suspicion. "Are you trying to seduce my wife?"

"Oh don't worry baby." Abbie gave his leg a reassuring pat. "You're too good in bed to walk out on."

Devon laughed and headed back to the bar as Simon's friends showered the couple with confetti.

Crane poked her in the side. "Comedian."

She smirked.

Allan had to work the next day, so it was only midnight when they left the bar, but the _Twice _Newlyweds couldn't remember when they'd had such a fun night out. (The underground cabaret notwithstanding, but it sort of belonged to a whole different realm.)

Abbie woke up at 3:10 a.m..

_GOTTA PEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! _Was her first thought upon opening her eyes.

She leapt out of bed and beelined for the bathroom.

When she came back she noticed something she hadn't before. Allan and Emily had arranged a muffin basked for them on the dresser. She picked up the card nestled amid the muffins and squinted to read it.

'_For Simon and Abbie. Made these fresh just for you.'_

She was amazed that Simon hadn't fought Ichabod tooth nail to go back to his life in Maine. The fact that he stayed in Sleepy Hollow without a fight made her feel a lot better about their first time together. ('Ive known you for twenty minutes, hey let's fuck' being the nutshell version.) He _really_ must have gone all in on their relationship right away.

_Weird, but I'll take it._

"Abbie?" asked a soft, sleepy voice.

"Aw, did I wake you up? Sorry."

"No," Crane replied, yawning and scooting upright against the headboard. "I was half awake already. Mmmm," he noticed the muffin basket. "Care to split one? They'll probably be blueberry pecan, it's my favorite one he makes - Allan I mean. And a thousand dollars says he bakes us us a mini wedding cake too."

Abbie grabbed a muffin and tossed it to him. He scooted to her side of the bed and they sat on the edge hunched over as they ate. Better to get crumbs on a hardwood floor than fresh sheets.

"Oh my God," Abbie whispered with a sigh as she swallowed her first bite. "We need to fill the back of the rental car with these things, how many can he crank out in six days?"

Crane chuckled quietly and accepted the bite Abbie held out for him.

"You left a lot of awesome here." she mused. "You must love me a whole big lot."

"Mmm," he nuzzled the side of her face and placed a soft kiss on her temple. "I really, really do." He leaned back and smiled at her.

Despite the poor lighting she could still see all the affection on his eyes.

"I'd even marry you a third time."

"Isn't he sweet?" Abbie asked no one, twitching her nose adorably.

"Oh dear," Crane murmured. "You've got a bit of blueberry riiiiiiight . . . " he leaned in and licked the side of her mouth, gently sucking her lower lip between his before drawing back.

He hovered barely a paper's width away from her mouth. "I do love blueberries." His arm came around her waist and he pulled her into his lap.

She cooperated and curled up, her feet resting on the mattress next to his legs.

". . . But it occurs to me suddenly," he took the muffin from her hands and set it on the lamp stand. "What fun it would be to set it aside and enjoy _you_ first." He kissed her throat. "Quietly of course. Mustn't be rude to our hosts."

Abbie wrapped her arms around his neck. "Seriously? You wanna cum stain their sheets?"

He unbuttoned the top two buttons of her pjs as he replied. "We'll launder them ourselves before we leave." He took care of the next two. "And even if Emily does manage to sneak in and collect them, she's an adult. Evidence of adult behavior . . . " he undid the last button and slid the garment off her shoulders. "Should hardly shock her."

Abbie let her shirt fall away as Crane adjusted their bodies and laid her down across the width of the bed, his p body looming above her. "Pecan and blueberry can wait until I've the taste of you in my mouth." He moved down the mattress and drew his tongue in a straight line from her navel up her abdomen. He paused briefly to lap at her breasts, then finished at her mouth with a long, languid kiss.

"Mmmmmm," she sighed.

He propped himself up, leaving enough room between their bodies for her to unbutton his nightshirt. She worked silently, caressing his slim frame as she went, and slowly brushed the back of her hand up his chest when she finished.

All the while he merely gazed and said nothing, too preoccupied with observing the subtle details of her expression.

A tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth as she tucked her right arm beneath her head.

"You're the one with the plan Mr. Crane." she murmured. "Let's see it."

"Hm . . . " he mused, rearing back on his haunches for a better view while he finished removing his shirt. "My plan is . . . more of a work in progress, really." He curled his fingers beneath her calves and gently prompted her to lift her knees so they became like armrests at his sides. His hands wandered up and down her legs.

A steep incline summiting at the knee, and decline from knee to hip.

Abbie waited patiently while he contemplated her like a genius studying quantum theory, delighted as his mind swirled with so many possibilities and puzzles.

He lifted her hips and used his knees as a wedge between her ass and the mattress, then bent down to nuzzle and kiss her still clothed thighs and the bare flesh just above her waistband. All while his hands roamed freely.

From Abbie's vantage point she could clearly see the curve and movement of his spine. Every flex of his shoulder blades. A pale body in motion as he traversed the flesh and muscle of her widespread legs before moving on to the curve of her silhouette.

She sighed, damp and eager.

A chuckle rumbled against her skin. "And how are we feeling?" He whispered as a hand wiggled beneath her her panties and massaged through her center.

She answered with a soft happy sound.

"This will do," Crane said in reference to her readiness. he gripped her pants and panties and pulled back, sliding off the bed and taking the last of her clothes with him. He rose and hunched over the bed, took care of the last of his clothes, and crawled forward settling gracefully between her legs.

"Ahh!" She cry/sighed when his tongue flicked over her clit.

"Ssssshhhhhh," he cautioned as he pressed her thighs apart and relished the sound of her hushed mewling while he lapped at her soft arousal. Small, light strokes that stayed small and light even when his fingers increased their pressure on her clit.

He felt the strain between his own legs when her body began to writhe and thighs began to shiver.

"Oh that's good!" She whispered, her hands on the back of his head alternately petting or clenching his hair._ "Really good . . . "_

He pushed her left leg far enough to gain a downward angle on her inner thigh without actually sitting up while two fingers slid easily inside her. He kissed and nibbled her warm skin, tilting his gaze upward and enjoying the view.

Biting her lips. Head moving erratically at a speed just shy of thrashing.

_I think we can take this up a notch._

He alternated between curling his fingers and splaying them wide in all directions, pushing hard against her walls. He felt her feet at his sides nudging him upward.

"Impatient are we?" He asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Yes," she whined. "You're mean, and yes!"

He decided to push his luck and tease a while longer. He thrust harder with his fingers and went at her clit with a vigorous tongue.

Her reaction amused him. A string of hushed unladylike words of reproach and offense poured from her mouth, but her body's behavior completely contradicted them. She bucked and gasped at each flick of his tongue, and quivering approval met every thrust of his fingers.

"Ah, _oooooooh . . ._ Crane, y - y - you suck!"

"Mmmmmmm," he moaned as he sat back, pulling her body up with him and letting gravity do the work of bringing her slicked heat down onto his waiting length. Every inch of him buried in a blink.

"AH!" She cried out with a jolt at being so quickly filled.

"Sh!" He clapped a hand over her mouth and pressed his face to her throat as he tried not to laugh.

"Sorry!" She panted while he set the pace.

"Mm! Mm! Mmmmmmm . . . _mm!"_ He struggled to stay quiet as the familiar need to cum built steadily inside him. He gripped her ass and reared up on his knees with the intention of moving their bodies, but the mattress was too soft to support the weight and they pitched over.

"Oh!" Abbie yelped.

"Nooooo!" Crane warbled.

They both froze and struggled not to laugh. Abbie started to break.

"Stop it!" Crane whispered.

"You stop it!"

He nipped her jawline and started to roll his hips with measured caution. Just in case they had woken Allan and Emily, he didn't want to make a blatant radio show of their sex life.

"Mind your husband!" He hissed facetiously.

"Mind your divorce papers!" She scoffed.

"That threat . . ." He breathed as he pinned her left hand above her head, "lacks credibility . . . _ooooooooh, wonderful . . ._ when I'm inside you." He sped his pace. "Perhaps t - t - try after?"

Her knees rose on either side of him and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound of her stifled mewling even though their noisy tumble had put a serious dent in their rise to orgasm. Still, _spectacular_ sex was officially an unrealistic goal.

"Here." Abbie wrapped her legs around his waist and took control of her body, tensing around him so he'd have enough friction to cum.

He finished with a sigh and laid down next to her. "That . . . was not our best work."

Abbie laced their hands together. "It was our funniest."

Crane stifled a giggle. "Lovely. The sex life of Mr. and Mrs. _West_ gets off to a comedic start!"

The two of them knew without saying that they weren't going to fall asleep again. Which left them with several hours until the sun rose completely.

"Hm . . . " Abbie mused. "Our funniest. What do you think is our _best _so far?"

Crane pondered the question. "Well, our first time together should take the title by default, but based solely on merit . . . ? I think the night we got married."

Abbie smiled. "That was awesome." She curled up on his chest. "How about a top five? First ever, first married, aaaaaaannnnnnd the last three . . . ?" She pondered her own question. "I vote The Night At The Opera for number three."

It happened the previous year. Someone had gotten them box seats to the opera, and they were alone in the box. The seats behind them remained vacant, so they decided to live dangerously and do hand stuff. It went really _really_ well.

"Good choice." Crane replied. "However, number three for me was the night before my birthday two years ago. No question. That was a work of sheer genius, Abbie . . . " he squeezed his wife's hand affectionately as his mind drifted back to the night in question.

She left the archives room early and ordered him not to come home before seven because she was making him a special dinner.

"You better be hungry." she purred when he came through the door.

He took a deep breath."It smells phenomenal in here!"

The table was adored with two plates, both covered, and several serving dishes in the center, one quite large. Also covered.

"A mystery!"

Abbie wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled his chest. "I hope you like it. Open the big one first."

She followed him to the table and swelled with pride when he lifted the lid.

_"Oooooooh . . ."_

A red satin corset with black lace trim at the top.

"I take it I'm getting a pre - dinner show?"

"Mm - hm." Abbie replied with a lascivious grin. "Keep going."

He chose the next largest lid.

A pair of black stiletto boots.

His breath shallowed. He imagined a stiletto shoe would be brutal for hours and hours of wear, but for sex? Nothing shaped Abbie's legs or ass more beautifully than stilettos.

Abbie kept her eyes riveted on him as he continued to unveil the teases of his impending gift.

He had to unfurl the items under the next lid to discern what they were. Thigh high silk stockings, garter belt, long sheer robe. All black.

He struggled not to get hard. _Too soon._

"The smaller ones are all different options." said Abbie. "Your choice."

A thin strip of suede long enough to wrap around wrists several times.

Handcuffs.

_Damn you! _He scolded his own disobedient body as the base of his shaft began to throb with arousal.

A length of black silk.

One, two, three, four pairs of panties. Various combinations of silk, sheer, and lace. All either black, red, or both.

_Optional panties._ His mind struggled to pick the more appealing option. Another black and/or red adornment to play with. Or just the stockings and garter belt with her sex and ass on full display. On the one hand he _loved_ to get her panties inhumanly wet before removing them. But on the other hand the idea of bending her over the table the second she was dressed and having her right away - at least to start - appealed as well.

He took a deep breath in order to stay calm and speak with discernible English words. "Abbie?"

"Uh - huh?"

He made a point of not looking at her for fear of what it would do to his brain and body.

"How hard are you prepared to work for my benefit tonight?"

"I slept way in this morning, done nothing strenuous all day, and took a nap when I got home."

He felt the warmth of her body as she moved close enough to brush against him.

"You can fuck me till sunrise if you want."

_We'll have to start without panties. She'll wear them later._

There was one more left to uncover.

Part of him wanted to savor the delightful pain wondering, but lust compelled him to toss the lid aside without hesitation.

A small device that seemed designed to fit over a finger.

"Mmmm," Abbie sighed. "You wear it, press this little button, and it gives my clit a really nice hum. I tested it yesterday - just enough to know it felt good, not long enough to cum. I'll cum when _you_ wear it."

_How thoughtful._

"Dinner is a roasted chicken by the way, I've turned the stove off so we can eat anytime you want."

"Certainly not now," he said breathlessly. _"I need you dressed at once. No panties."_

While she was changing in the bedroom he paced the floor, tortured by a slew of decisions.

_She deserves one hell of a thank you . . . go down on her before getting selfish?_

_But the whole point of this gift is MY pleasure . . . perhaps I should take selfishly and work my way to thank you?_

He was _leaning_ toward claiming his gift aggressively and to his heart's desire _then_ showing his appreciation, but when Abbie returned to the room the sight of her was too overwhelming for him to give a damn about proper manners. The fact that she was presenting herself for the specific purpose of serving his desire freed him from the burden of Lover's Etiquette, and he plummeted into selfishness.

"Over the table," he rasped, kicking a chair out of the way. "Pleasure me until I say stop and bend over the table."

He couldn't remember the last time he was so dizzy with lust.

Possibly never. (With the implicit exception of their first night but that was sentimental.) in terms of raw lust, this was experience was proving _extraordinary. _His hardness demanded satisfaction with an unparalleled deafening urgency.

His hypnotized gaze raked over her body as she walked across the room. "On my knees, or stroking?" She asked as she undid his pants, her voice low and husky.

_Blow job later, you can get her over the table faster if she's standing._

Rather than answer the question verbally _(words . . . ?)_ he took her hand and guided it around his firm, hyper sensitive flesh.

"Mmmmmmm," she sighed as she stroked his full lenghth, her grip neither tight nor soft.

_Flawless! Flawless!_ He thought frantically as his body sung to every stroke.

His next thought was one he'd had quite often, but never so sincerely. _We. Are. Fucking. BRILLIANT!_

He titled her head back and devoured her mouth, her lively tongue sweeping and tangling with his. He let it continue as long as he could bear to before telling her to stop. As per his previous instruction she moved into position, arms bent and palms flat on the table.

Too wild even for the extra second it would take to check her readiness, he buried himself to the hilt. Her plentiful arousal took him easily.

_Finally!_ He thought, every cell in his body tingling with fervent thanks.

"Aaaah - AH!" She cried, braced for the force of him (as he was clearly not interested in violins - and - roses sex) but still unprepared for the driving depth.

_Impressive._

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" Every thrust pushed a noise from her that oscillated between throaty, shrill, and whining, and he answered in kind.

Language took a back seat to some kind of warbling half - growl as he gripped her waist and stared down at her. The shine of vibrant red perfectly complimented her dark shoulders and neck, and her hair swung with the motion of her body. He didn't want to lose his mind his soon so he indulged the powerful thrust _only_ until it threatened to consume him, then eased both pace and force, and nudged her legs further apart to win a tighter hug around his rigid sex. He meant to enjoy her depth for as long as possible.

His whole body was shaking and his back slick with sweat by the time he began to swell, aching to cum.

His entire reality contracted to nothing but soft rippled flesh and red satin.

"Fuck!" He yelled. _FUCK!" _Crane bucked and moaned, cursed and praised as he came. "Un . . . un, that, oh, _beyond . . ." _he panted as he finished and withdrew. "Abbie. . . " he collapsed into the chair by his side and zipped up his pants."You . . . ooooooooh . . . " he gulped down air as if he'd been under water for a truly dangerous swath of time.

Abbie wobbled upright and fell onto his lap in a straddle.

"Was I too -"

"You didn't hurt me." she assured him. "I'll let you know if you do." She twitched her nose and gave him a quick nuzzle. "Unless a little _sting_ is what you're going for."

He pet her thighs and chuckled softly.

They seldom played such games so it took him a moment to remember their Safeword. Snow. Not that he was even remotely considering going at it again so soon.

_Out of the question. Mid - coitus heart attacks tend to spoil the mood._

He had her put on a pair of lace panties and the robe, and they ate dinner. After a reasonable amount of time, while they were sitting in the couch, he snaked his hand beneath her panties without a word.

She leaned back and sighed while he rubbed and stroked, soaking her panties as he so _loved_ to do. This time he had her on top in a straddle, hands tied behind her back with the suede strip. She had only her muscles and focus to rely on for balance while she rode him. Her walls pulled and shuddered with heightened tension too, as though she could clutch and hold his generous shaft to help keep her balance.

Meanwhile, he removed her corset and put all his attention on caressing and kissing her breasts. At least, all the attention he could manage to wrest away from the delicious, rolling, up - down slide of her welcoming center. Though he did remain utterly self involved as per her intention, that time he needed her to cum in order to feel the full joy of all her body had to offer. He granted her flesh and clit have all the attention they needed in order to give him the always stunning gift of her thrown back head, flung open mouth (panting all manner of obscene praise), and wildly shuddering core, surging forward to coax his release.

He allowed hours of downtime between fits of pleasure, and turns were taken with who _worked_ the hardest, but he did use her promise of superhuman stamina to its fullest advantage. When he did finally decide to call it a night, he used the last of his energy to lick and stroke a heartfelt thanks between her legs.

The clit toy helped immensely.


	15. Clinging To Life

**OKAY EVERYONE. THE NEXT CHAPTER *IS* GOING TO BE THE LAST ONE, AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. I'VE LOVED EVERY SECOND OF WRITING THIS SERIES AND I'M STILL AMAZED BY ALL THE LOVE IT'S GOTTEN BACK, THANK YOU. YOU ARE ALL BIG BUCKETS OF AWESOME!**

Abbie sighed as she flipped through the images on her phone. She and Crane beaming at the camera surrounded by beautiful scenery, or just the beautiful scenery. From the hanging moss of rain forests to the red rocks and cactus of the desert. Even though she could still close her eyes and imagine it all around her, it felt like a memory from long ago instead of just the previous year.

_That's enough nostalgia, Abbie, _she told herself. _It's all out War now and you need to focus. Today's jobs: you're headed for the West Camp, call ahead to see if Jenny needs anything from the midpoint weapons cache. Hope for general update from Darla._

She didn't know what they'd do without Darla or her (former) club. All the secret rooms and passageways were ideal for housing weapons, supplies, enemy prisoners, etc. As for the woman herself, Darla had decades of experience running elaborate clandestine organizations, and knew her way around smuggling. She was basically the only one of them besides Ichabod with the skills to keep the Apocalypse organized.

_"It's a shame I'll never be able to publish my memoir."_ Darla rasped when they first asked her to officially take on the role. _"My life is goddamn fascinating!"_

With the war in full swing, more mystics, witches, and soldiers poured into town every week, and while most active battles took place in the miles of wilderness outside of town, a war can only stay so subtle for so long. More than half the civilian population of Sleepy Hollow was also in the loop. No one told anyone on purpose unless they had to, of course, but it was often unavoidable. Some people found out because of a direct attack, others because they saw something. They tripped and fell into the mess, and many chose to fight. No one was _enlisted._

The exception being Doctors.

Magic was helpful when it came to easing pain, or encouraging a wound to heal, but actually repairing badly damaged tissue took a level of time and energy they couldn't afford to spend. Not without leaving everyone else vulnerable to attack.

Missing parts.

Gaping wounds.

Horrible burns, etc.

They needed a hospital's help to avoid massive losses, and there was simply no good way to explain a sudden flood critically injured patients showing up by the fistful every other. The witches handled explaining and/or proving things. It took all of four days to have all necessary staff either informed, or hocus - pocused into not registering the weirdness.

It was a tough call, but in the end everyone agreed that involving St. Mary's directly was the right thing to do.

Thanks to St. Mary's Katrina got top notch care when a random hell creature tore her eye out (Abbie didn't bother remembering names anymore, just how to kill shit). All she had to cope with was an eyepatch. A minor adjustment.

Max would've died without the blood transfusions.

And Frank got _really lucky_. His pelvis was crushed and a spine injured when two of the horsemen tried to force him through a vortex. Not only did the docs save his life, they hooked him up with two top of the line wheelchairs. One electric and mounted on giant all - terrain wheels like an assault tank. The other manual, but designed for speed and agility. He was back in action faster than anyone expected. And he got to spend every rare second of downtime playing wheelchair basketball with Macy.

She really liked kicking his ass.

_I'm almost jealous,_ Abbie thought wistfully as she scrolled through more pics.

"Hey Mrs. Crane," a woman called from outside the tent. "You're with Casey's group, right?"

"Yeah."

The woman poked her head in. "Then grab your gear, and don't forget to fill your canteen. You're headed away from every water source but puddles."

"Mmmmm, puddle water." Abbie mused as she traced her fingers over a photo of herself surrounded by the majestic dripping moss of an old growth forest. She shook off the relaxing moment and put the phone away in what some former army guy had sworn to her was a bullet/fireproof box.

_No way am I risking this phone._

It was how she kept from going nuts. The phone came with her everywhere.

She went for Our Happy Times pics when she was tired or depressed. The Our Naughty Times pics when she was horny. As it turned out even war didn't shut off hormones - in fact the heightened risk of death and/or need to escape all the ugliness actually made sex a hundred times more appealing.

Twenty minutes later Abbie was trudging along muttering the words to a poem from one of Cavili's scrolls. It stuck out from the rest of his scribblings because it was written in English. _Contemporary English. _In the passage immediately following the poem Cavali explains that he'd spent the day in a trance and emerged to find it written. The words were no comfort, but hard to shake once they came to mind. In fact, Abbie often didn't realize she was reciting aloud.

_"Come horses, come monsters_

_Come fire, come crying._

_Take on the worst_

_accept fate, accept dying._

_No pot on the stove_

_none sleeping in beds._

_All charge with their families_

_with strangers, with friends._

_(To battle_

_to battle_

_to battle and battle.)_

_Dark things will advance_

_All night and all day._

_So be wakeful and watchful_

_When hell comes to play."_

She muttered and marched, surrounded by the lovely stench of her own body and collective stench of twenty other soldiers covered in filth.

_Please let West Camp have toothpaste! Or at least floss!_

She was pretty sure she could plant crops in the crud between her teeth and have a thriving food supply by Spring.

_Chew up some miracle grow and I'm all set._

That thought took her to the mental image of tomatoes, which lead to tomato sauce, which led to lasagna.

_If some guy offers lasagna in exchange for a blow job, is that . . .? Nooooooo. Bad wife! . . . Sigh. God I miss lasagna._

They reached the place before sunset and she and Jenny chatted briefly before her sister had to go do other things.

Abbie chose sardines and a stack of crackers for dinner, then sat back and watched her favorite show. The barter economy in action.

Just her luck West Camp was woefully under supplied with anything that wasn't directly combat useful, so no toothpaste in the camp inventory. She was sure someone would let her use a little from their private supply for the night, but she really wanted her own tube.

_I'll bid shoelaces. It's a good bid._

Those who'd been at the camp for a while sat intermingled with her group, and they went at it.

. . . .

"Does anyone have shaving cream?"

"I do. Trade you a snickers bar."

. . .

"I lost my nail clippers, I can trade either a small mirror or a deck of cards."

. . . .

"Insect repellant! ANYTHING for insect repellant!"

. . . .

Abbie focused on the trade action nearest her.

A bald man took a small satchel out of his coat pocket and dangled it on the air. "My rune set is missing five stones, I'll trade nicotine patches if anyone has strays."

The skinniest man Abbie had ever seen wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "I probably do. I pick up stray _anything magic,_ write down what you need and I'll check my bag."

Odds were good he'd have runes. Their witches often found themselves in mid - spell when the sudden need to haul ass arose, so it wasn't uncommon for a few runes or trinkets to get left behind In the scatter.

Abbie did manage to acquire toothpaste in exchange for six tampons.

_I've got two weeks until my cycle._

After dinner she called dibs on one of the few actual structures available. Plywood, but still.

She bedded down and checked her phone. A text.

_I pray your phone is not dead. Made it back to cabin today and the crowd is miraculously thin. Three women on pull out couch, five men sleeping bags. I HAVE OUR ROOM TO MYSELF! Call of possible, I'm desperate for your voice!_

Abbie's throat went dry. It had been two weeks since she'd heard Crane's voice on anything but voicemail. No actual conversation. They were so rarely free at the same time, and with privacy as well?

_PRIVACY!_

It was a great luxury that could end at any moment. A sudden arrival of people. An attack. There was no question at all of how to best take advantage of whatever completely alone time they could get.

She undid the top button of her pants as she dialed.

He picked up in half a ring. "I miss you." he whispered.

"You too."

Then came the formality of confirming one another's identities (with relative certainty). They each had a specific word to say.

"Baseball." he said. The correct word.

"Ocean." she returned.

"I miss you so much, Abbie." he repeated. "I shall do everything I can to remain here at the cabin until your return. _Please_ tell me nothing unexpected has delayed -"

"Not so far. We're just picking up five witches and guarding them like gold on the trip back. They have to finish bulking up a barrier spell here, but the barrier covers a five mile radius, so it's a big deal. Apparently gonna take three days of work, then some rest . . . if nothing hits us on the way back?" She sighed. " . . . I'm home in ten or eleven days. Tops."

He let out a groan that hovered between eagerness and frustration. She could hear him adjust on the mattress.

"I wonder if we'll still have privacy when I get there?" she mused.

"That hope shall be foremost in my prayers."

He was breathing heavily and Abbie could tell by the pitch and cadence of his voice that he was touching himself.

"I want you on this bed. Naked before me and - no, no scratch that. I want you clothed. So I can undress you."

She held the phone low enough for him to hear her pants unzip.

"Undressing you is always . . . oh it's _always_ such a pleasure."

"Same." she replied as she began to rub her clit. A little faster than she'd normally start out, but with the looming threat of possible interruption . . . "I love the look you get on your face when I get your pants undone. And . . . and when I put my hand on you. Stroke and ask want you want. Mmmmmmm," she sighed. "If I don't already have a plan of my own."

"I want to know what you're doing to yourself right now." Ichabod rasped.

"I'm taking _CARE-"_ her breath hitched when she hit a sensitive spot. "Of my clit." She listened to his shallow panting and let herself get a teeny bit louder as she continued. "I want your help Crane. Help me . . . _please."_

This was another shift of battle etiquette vs. normal etiquette. Sometimes you need the release or you'll go crazy. It's your only option for handling the stress. They all knew it, and they all silently agreed to pretend they never overheared anything when someone indulged the need. The result of this fact was that Abbie knew (among other things) what Bennet Henderson's sex noises sounded like.

Henderson happened to be in a nearby tent that night so she figured he owed her one for the three nights straight of 'oh you're such a bad girl! A bad _bad_ girl Amanda!' Especially since she knew full well he was talking about Amanda Kelper, a married woman at least thirty years younger than him.

_Yeah, you owe me asshole. I am getting off with my husband NOW, and you will not flip me shit tomorrow!_

"Help me, Crane. . ." she repeated.

"How?" Ichabod inquired, speeding his stroke.

"Go down. Go down soft. I'll stop what I'm doing and let you lick me."

"May I suck your fingers clean first?"

"Aaaahh," she mewled. "Fuck yes!"

"I love the taste of you . . ." he said, his voice shallow and somewhat mournful. "I miss the taste of of you so terribly."

She put the phone on speaker in order to multi task. One hand on her clit, the other massaging the rest of her, occasionally pushing in.

"I miss it almost as much as being inside you."

She bit her lip and whimpered. "I'm inside myself, baby." She

"Oh God!"

"Tell me how you go down."

"I uh . . . I uh . . . oh the options are killing me!" he breathed. "It's been so long Abbie, I want _everything! _Everything at once!"

He groaned and she could tell he was gritting his teeth, trying to focus.

"If I have to make a choice . . ." he achieved a measure of calm. "You requested soft and slow, yes?"

"Mm - hm."

"Then I begin with a lick nearly too light to feel. Not through you. Just the clit." He shivered to the sound of her reaction. "I take my tongue closer and closer as I go on, I'm so hard, Abbie. It takes all my discipline not to descend at once and thrust fingers inside you."

She bucked into her own hand with a loud whimper.

"That is always a wonderful moment, dearest. When I first feel the perfect heat of you . . . but I don't do it just yet."

"Mmmmmm," she moaned, frustrated. "Why not?!"

For several seconds all she heard was shallow breathing.

"I want you wetter."

"Crane, I'm . . . Oh! Trust me I'm plenty -"

"You will _WAIT!"_

_I forgot how sexy it is when Bossy Ichabod shows up!_

"You're finally here, my love, and it's been ages. I want you writhing for me . . . "

"Ah! Ah! CRANE!"

"Begging for me . . . "

She flung her head back in a silent cry.

"Frantic and thoughtless, love. I will settle for no less . . ." he paused and let the sound of her panting and moaning go straight to his aching length. "When I have you there, I do as I wish. Devour you and thrust in the same moment."

More muted noises as she slowed down and eased her stroke to keep from cumming.

"Theeeeerrrrreeeeee." He spoke in a deep, satisfied tone. "Oh, it's so perfect. Abbie, it's so _PERFECT!"_ He too was taking advantage of battle etiquette and allowing himself the occasional exclamation. "So long . . . it's been so long since -" he struggled to keep speaking as he gasped and panted. "Torture. Terrible. I would - ah! . . . I would give all but my soul for a night of your body."

"Mmm! Mmm!" Her sounds were shrill and fragile. "You're - I'm - you're down on me."

"Oooooooh." he sighed as if just remembering the rules of phone sex. Erotic pretend.

_Pretend Crane! Don't want what could be, pretend and it's half real! Alright . . . she's here . . . You can taste her . . ."_

His breathing shallowed.

_You're curling your fingers inside her and feeling her shudder . . ._

"If your fingers are my proxy I must know what you feel like, what -" he broke off and gasped suddenly. "What your body does as you pet . . . stroke . . . push . . . "

She thrust as deep into herself as possible given the limits of biology and narrated what she found.

"I can't stop shaking," she spoke fast and rubbed faster and faster over her clit. "You stroke that spot you always find and I - ah! My hips go crazy, so fucking crazy, I can't hold still, I, I, _ooooooh, _you feel so good, I get, I want, ah! More!"

"I curl my fingers," he whispered. " . . . and let my tongue go wild on you, spoil your clit with attention -"

She played the scene in her head, bucking into her fingers as the sound of broken, pitchy whimpering filled her small plywood shanty.

"I'm, _OH, FUCK_ - I'm cumming to hard to th, th, think, think clearly -" it wasn't a lie. Her fingers were covered in warm sex. "Are you getting yoursssssss, self off too?"

"Mm - hm." His voice crackled over the phone. "I'm crouched between your legs so I can take proper - _aaaaaaaaah,"_ he panted, struggling to paint her the image. "Oh, God . . . Abbie . . . crouched so, I. Can. Take. Proper. CARE. Of you, and get . . . " he hissed and she could hear the mattress answer the rattling movement of his body. "And get myself . . ." a loud and gratifying cry filled her ears . . .

She went on panting softly and rubbing her excited clit while he came. And after when he spent a while moaning and catching his breath.

"Do I get you off now?" he whispered finally. "Or do I watch while you -"

"Watch me," Abbie cried._ "Watch me! _Watch, watch, w - watch - aaaaaah - ah! _AH!"_

He sighed and moaned happily as he listened to her cum.

_No one lets go like you do, my love . . ._

He could recall several times when he'd exhausted himself inside her and fell to the bed planning simply to bask in the show of her continuing self pleasure and orgasm, only to be half hard again by the time she finished. It didn't always lead to another go, but that it happened at all was a testament to the uncensored beauty of her climax.

After she came, the two chatted about various unimportant topics until they were too tired to say another word.

"See you soon." They promised one another before they hung up.

It was the last time they spoke for the rest of the Apocalypse.

The final battle struck as Abbie's unit was en route back to the cabin. Hell struck on every front. The horsemen, demons, evil spirits, conjured monsters, dark witches, and human disciples of Lucifer. All charged.

They hit every camp.

They hit Darla's place.

They opened portals and vortexes all over town.

The war eventually ended in Heaven's favor, but it took _months._

After dozens of funerals and mass memorials, they all agreed that the best _FUCK YOU _to Lucifer would be returning to Life As Usual as though his seven year campaign had been nothing more than a minor skirmish. A schoolyard scuffle.

Abbie was more than willing to move on without a fuss. Her memory of the last _last_ battle was dim because midway through she'd apparently sustained a concussion and blacked out. Jenny was the one who pulled her clear of danger.

_Whatever. _Abbie often thought. _We won, that's all that matters._

The day they committed to their Life As Usual plan, Crane, Abbie, and Max went to the store to get outdoor Barbecue supplies while the others stayed at the cabin arranging tables, fold out chairs, and making potato salad. Your standard picnic fare.

"Is the bump sore, dearest?" Crane asked as they walked across the parking lot toward the sliding double doors.

"I only took one pill this morning." Abbie replied cheerfully. "Take _that_ concussion!"

"Score!" said Max with a robust high five.

To the left of the door was a twentysomething girl with two eyebrow rings and a lip ring standing next to a chocolate Labrador Retriever puppy with a sign around his neck reading "I NEED A LOVING FAMILY."

"No dog!" Abbie warned. She knew her husband.

"I know." Crane sighed. But he couldn't resist stopping to greet the animal.

Abbie knew right away the canine had himself a captive audience.

She crossed her arms and sighed. "Should Max and I get the groceries while you two play?"

Crane smiled. "I love you."

"Yeeeeaaaaaaah." Abbie rolled her eyes and gave him a little peck on the mouth. She and Max entered the store and were immediately approached by an aggressively cheerful, rotund young woman in a blue vest.

"Can I help you find anything?" she chirped.

"Sure." Abbie replied, surrendered to her fate. "Where do you keep the dog food?"

Max squeezed her shoulder as they headed for aisle eight. "You're a smart woman."

In addition to the food she also bought a leash and two toys.

_Good call._ She congratulated herself when they emerged from the store and there stood her husband, puppy in arms, his breath already drawn ready to list the thousand reasons they should own a dog.

"I already bought his food, jackass." She cut him off.

The dog licked her and Max's hands as they reached out to pet him.

Abbie did her best to bite back a smile and go on acting as if Crane had worn her down with a persistent deluge of valid arguments, but every time she looked at the dog . . .

_Love meeeeeeee, _his shining puppy eyes called out. _You want to loooooooove meeeeeeee _. . .

"What shall we name him?" Ichabod wondered aloud as they trotted back to the car. "I like Riley. Your thoughts?"

Abbie liked the name and was about to say so when her vision became suddenly blurry. Bad enough to slow her down.

"Are you alright?" asked Max.

_I can barely see you! _Abbie thought, squinting and blinking aggressively.

She started to panic as the blur overtook her completely, but then she felt Ichabod squeeze her hand and heard his soothing voice. He sounded far off and hushed, but she knew it was him.

_"Abbie, darling? Doctor Connor is going to take the tube out now, please . . . please try to keep breathing . . . "_

She coughed violently for a moment, and just like that her vision cleared up.

_Ichabod._

_Puppy._

_Max._

_Parking lot._

Check, check, check, and check.

_Random, _she thought, still coughing.

"Abbie?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I uh . . . just got a fly in my throat." She coughed again. "Feels scratchy."

Ichabod helped her get settled in the car and fetched a thermos of water.

Her vision stayed normal for the rest of the day so she put the bizarre incident out of her mind.

As time passed she did end up bending to Riley's persistent plea for love. He was the perfect combination of sweet and frisky, and rarely disobeyed. In fact, the only time he ever peed on the rug was the day they took him in for his twelve month check up. Mommy Abbie and Daddy Crane were on his shitlist for the rest of that day.

"Should we breed him?" Ichabod mused one crisp fall morning as they stood on the porch and watched Riley frisk about with a tennis ball.

Abbie leaned against his chest and pondered the question.

_He really is a beautiful dog. And we do have enough property to give a second one room to run around . . . maybe we could keep one of the puppies?_

"Hm. We could, I guess. I mean the poor guy hasn't gotten laid since that runaway wandered in . . ."

She felt Ichabod squeeze her hand, and turned to smile at him.

Her vision began to swim and blur.

_Seriously?! _She thought, flashing back to that day in the parking lot. _What the hell is . . ._

_"Abbie? . . . Abbie?"_ Ichabod's voice sounded less distant this time, and more hopeful.

His peering face wobbled into view.

"Ichabod?" She muttered, squeezing his hand.

"She's squeezing my hand!" he said excitedly to someone on the other side of the bed.

_I'm in a bed . . . a hospital bed. . . why am . . ._

"Oh my God!" Crane kissed her hand with fervent joy and pressed it to his cheek. "Abbie! Abbie, can you speak?"

"Did I fall off the porch?" she rasped, her words softer and slower than she intended. Her throat was dry.

She looked around and saw a woman in scrubs scuttling about checking various monitors. The woman excused herself politely just as a doctor she vaguely recognized entered the room.

_Doctor Connor ? . . . _she thought hazily . . .

"It's very nice to see you, Mrs. Crane." he said pleasantly, then set about checking her monitors and scrawling notes.

_This seems like a lot of fuss for a concussion._

"Is someone with Riley?" she asked.

Ichabod teared up and laughed, weirdly delighted at the mention of their dog. "I've talked of us perhaps getting a dog when you . . ." He didn't finish the previous sentence. "I specifically suggested the name Riley!"

Her vision swam somewhat and Ichabod's joyful expression faltered. She could tell he was trying hard not to betray pure panic.

"Nononono! _NO!"_ He exclaimed desperately. "Abbie, try to stay awake! Please! This is the longest you've been conscious for months!"

Abbie heard a monitor beeping fast and knew implicitly that it was announcing the rate of her own heartbeat. She began to shake free of the fog in her mind, and committed herself to focusing on her husband.

Ichabod clutched her hand. "Just look at me and keep squeezing my hand . . . ooooooooh, _thank you." _He sighed and sagged with relief as she did both. "I've missed you."

She squirmed, trying to sit up.

The unobtrusive doctor came forward to help.

"Let me." Ichabod said softly, pressing a button that made her mattress slowly rise. He stopped it at a partial recline. "You're going to be weak, my love."

She kept trying to swallow and wet her parched throat. "Can I have water?" she croaked.

He dashed to the sink and came back with a paper cup of water and a straw, which he held in front of her.

"Very small sips," the doctor cautioned. "Who knows how your stomach will react."

Ichabod watched her drink and looked at the clock. "Over a minute," he whispered more to himself than her, his eyes wide with sheer wonder. "You've been with me for over a minute."

Abbie wanted to gulp down the water, but she restrained herself to small sips. The cool liquid felt wonderful, but it was hard to enjoy when absolutely nothing going on around her made any sense.

"Um . . . " her eyes drifted between her husband and the doctor. "How long have I been like this?" she warbled.

Ichabod set down the water and folded her hand between his. "Prepare yourself Abbie." His gaze was warm, but serious.

She drew a long, deep breath, trying to brace for anything.

Ichabod and the doctor exchanged a look. The doctor nodded, and Ichabod continued.

"You were injured in the Apocalypse, Abbie - we won, by the way. You've been like this for . . . " he frowned, certain his wife would prefer he just cut to the chase, but also desperately wishing there was some way to make it all less shocking.

_Get on with it! He scolded know who you're married to, she wants the FACTS you idiot!_

"You were in . . . it's called a persistent vegetative state, for six months and three days before your sister and I could even bear the thought of taking you off of life support."

He kissed her hand again. He couldn't seem to stop kissing her hand.

"We took you off the machine eight months and nine days ago."

A shiver ran though her body and her pulse hitched.

_Fourteen months?!_

"The _wonderful_ Doctor Connor here -"

The doctor stopped scrawling notes long enough to give a slight bow.

"He made sure I understood that your brain may or may not take the hint and keep you breathing, but I. . . darling, you'd show no sign of life for so long that I . . . I took it for granted you wouldn't breath on your own." He paused and his voice took on a hopeful tinge. "But you did! When you were on the machine I had the staff here under orders not to revive you if your heart did stop . . . "

Ichabod loathed the thought, but if all that remained of his lively, vibrant wife was a heartbeat, and it too failed? As a loving husband he would rather force himself to let nature run its course than torture his mate.

She gave him a wobbly smile, and he knew she understood.

"I love you." he whispered, pressing long, sincere kisses to the back of her hand. "When you proved able to breathe on your own . . . after several days Jenny and I agreed . . . maybe . . . " he paused, still struggling not to dissolve and clutch her to him the way a child does a security blanket. "We agreed maybe you were in there after all." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "So I reversed the do not resuscitate order and, well . . . " he pointed to a machine pushed against the far wall. Abbie knew what it was. "That's your crash cart. At the ready to buy you more time."

Abbie let out the breath she'd been holding. "My very own crash cart. I . . . "

Ichabod could tell she didn't know what to say, so he continued he story. "You squeezed my hand on May fifth. The next week you opened your eyes and muttered a little. No real words, and your eyes didn't fix on anything, but they stayed open a full three minutes. It was a _big day_ for us, Abbie." His expression hovered between glee and pain. "It was our first real milestone. Every two weeks since then you've been down to the MRI machine for tests. And your brain . . . Abbie, you started . . . to _react_ to things."

"Like what?" Abbie winced as she spoke. Ichabod took the hint and held up her cup of water again, guiding the straw to her lips.

"Speech and sounds, mostly." Doctor Connnor explained. "Especially your husband's voice." He smiled. "It was subtle at first, but eventually I could tell just by looking at the scans whether it was him talking to you or the tech."

"Really?" Abbie smiled.

Doctor Connor nodded. "Mm - hm. And then the BIG day . . . "

Ichabod set aside the cup of water and kissed his wife's forehead, careful not to disturb any monitor wires. He stroked her face, and his eyes welled up.

"What big day, baby?" Abbie wished she had the strength to wipe away her husbands tears as they fell.

"June tenth," he said said. "We were doing the words response test, and I said I love you."

"All the right parts of your brain lit up!" Doctor Connor finished.

"Oooooooh," Abbie sighed happily. She tried to lift a hand to her husbands face but couldn't quite manage it.

"June tenth, Abbie. It was the first day I truly believed you could come back to me. Memory and all. Since then you've been fluttering your eyelids and squeezing my hand more and more. And muttering words."

"Wow." She couldn't think of what else to say.

Ichabod exhaled and gently nuzzled her hand.

"So when do we know I'm officially out of the whole thing?" she asked the doctor.

"Well Abbie," he replied, "you're making eye contact, every word you've said is coherent, and you're not struggling to find them. And _this_," he pointed to one of the monitors. "Is more activity than we've seen since you got here."

Abbie cast a glance at Ichabod and smiled a little. "So I'm not gonna lapse back in a few minutes?"

Doctor Connor looked at Ichabod, and Ichabod gave him a somber but confident nod.

"I'm extremely confident, but medically it is still possible you will lapse back. So I'm going to keep you on the monitors for a few weeks. If you don't deteriorate, and none of this great improvement goes away," he gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Then I'll call it a recovery and you can go home."

"HOME?!" Ichabod cried out as though taking her home was still an impossible dream.

"Mm - hm." Connor couldn't help but smile. "You can sleep in your own bed, eat real food, go through your DVR . . . "

Abbie looked over the side of the bed frame. "Not pee in a bag . . ."

Ichabod chuckled. He imagined her reading a book on the couch, or better yet sleeping next to him in _their_ bed.

_Over a year._ The fact dizzied him. _It's been over a year!_

Doctor Connor grinned. "Yes, that will be nice." He cleared his throat. "Abbie I'm going to give you a few quick assessment tests now, okay? Then I'll get out of your hair for a while."

Abbie shrugged. "Go for it."

"Great. Wiggle your right hand fingers. Good. Left. Good. Now both. _Fantastic!_ Lift your arms as high as you can and hold them there as long as you can . . ." He waited patiently while her arms drifted about seven inches off the mattress and hovered there for the count of ten seconds before collapsing to the bed.

She looked at him with a furrowed brow, concerned by the obvious weakness.

"It's exactly what we'd expect." He assured her.

She and Ichabod shared a relieved look.

"Can you feel this?" Doctor Connor walked to the foot of the bed and poked her toe with his pen.

"Mm - hm."

He stopped to scribble some notes before going on. "Repeat the words I say in order. Bear, cheese, piano."

"Bear, cheese, piano."

Ichabod's urge to leap around the room hollering victory grew with every positive response.

"Do dogs moo, or bark, or quack?"

Abbie giggled, the muscles in her face pulling onto an even bigger smile than before. "They quack."

Ichabod's blood froze.

"Kidding." She giggled again. "They bark."

"That was awful!" He cried. "Nice to know your character is well intact." He looked up at the doctor. "Yes, this is what she's like."

"Funny lady. Okay, last one. Spell your first name."

She struggled a little to get the letters in order, but not too bad, and she never inserted a letter that didn't belong.

"You did great Mrs. Crane." Connor told her with a face - devouring smile and a playful shake of her foot. "I can't say a hundred percent, but I'm _almost_ certain you'll be headed home soon."

They both thanked him profusely, and he left the room with a polite nod.

"Um . . ." Crane tried to think of something coherent to say besides shouting 'you're back you're back you're back' until his throat hurt. "So . . . shall I bring you up to speed on things?"

"Hell yes!"

_I can't imagine how much I've missed . . ._

Ichabod opened his mouth and took a deep breath, ready to launch into a year had a half's worth of news. "If you don't mind I'll open with the bad and work my way to the good so we finish on a high note, yes?"

Abbie nodded in agreement.

"And I'll just cover news of our personal friends, the rest can wait. First thing is . . ." again he hesitated. "Your sister's face is going to look quite a bit different when you see her. She's fine now, perfectly. Strong and brimming with sass. But . . . do you remember those demons with the strong hands that burnt all they touched?"

"Uh - huh."

"Well, one grabbed her by the face and crushed every bone. How the doctors saved both of her eyes I'll never know. Katrina and two other witches sent him flying before she caught fire, but she's had massive facial reconstruction and skin grafts. The scars are actually surprisingly subtle, but the shape of her face is changed forever." He paused to let Abbie process the news.

"That's the _worst_ news?" She asked weakly, struggling to fight off a surge of dizziness.

Ichabod nodded, and his stomach did cartwheels when she squeezed his hand.

"So . . . " he mulled over what the proper order should be. "Well, there was a cave in at Darla's. The building survived, but Darla didn't. Kat took Slouch, and her whole coven runs the club now. Not the typical witch's trade, but _fun_ took on a high priority after all those years of horrible."

"Kat owns a monkey and runs a club," Abbie mused. "Sounds about right."

Crane laughed.

_I love your voice, love your voice, I LOVE YOUR VOICE,_

"Kim Lee lost his arm trying to dig people out of rubble. Spent the first few months quite depressed, but then he rallied, saved up, and got himself a nice animatronic arm. He's spent months getting the quality of his leatherwork back up to snuff working with the robotic appendage."

Abbie raised an eyebrow and made an expression close to her old snark face. "Can he still make the shoes? Because that's the Happy 'End Of Your Coma' present I wanted."

Ichabod was floored by how fast his Abbie was returning to herself. "He still makes shoes. Now! On to Frank Irving!"

_This is gonna be happy news._

"He suffered no more injury, and he's gone from walking with two leg braces to one leg brace."

"That's great!" Abbie exclaimed.

"Max also incurred no further injury - oh, scratch that, one long scar on his arm, but no actual impairments." Crane grinned eagerly. Up next was the news he'd been waiting to tell. "Aaaaaaaaand lastly there is Katrina again." He stopped. Just to make Abbie squirm.

_Druuuuuuuuum roooooooooollllllllll . . ._

"WELL?!" The sound of Abbie's voice was as close to a yelp as her throat could produce.

"She and Max," Crane giggled . . . "have a three and a half month old girl."

Abbie blinked for a moment as it clicked in her mind that she'd be unconscious long enough for someone go through a whole pregnancy.

"Baby? . . . ." she muttered . . . "A _baby?"_

They married as well, but there's been no ceremony. They decided to hold off for a bit when you started to improve, I imagine they'll get on with it now. Her name is Sophia Abigail Gordon."

"Sophia Abigail Gordon." Abbie repeated. "It's perfect."

"She's got Max's eyes and just enough hair to know it's going to be red like her Mum's. I smother her with kisses every time I visit, she's a _darling."_

Just then Abbie realized something. For all the thousands of kisses to her hands and forehead, Crane had yet to really kiss _her._

He lunged for her mouth when she pointed this out to him, but immediately pulled back. "Was that too -"

"Too _NOTHING,_ Crane," she cut him off. "The only reason I'm not grabbing you right now is I physically can't." True, she was too weak to handle much in the way of physical intimacy, and their options were limited given the location. But she needed something, _anything._

As much as she wanted to sit up and throw her arms around him, it wasn't gonna happen. Not for a while. He had to take the reins.

"I know I can't do much right now," her voice cracked as she spoke, "but my mouth is just fine. I'm speaking, no slurring, I can smile." She flashed a big smile to underscore the point. "It's been fourteen months, baby. You can kiss me til my lips blister!"

He needed no further prompting. He held her face and maneuvered any way needed to accommodate the sort of kiss they hadn't shared in ages.

_I forgot what this felt like . . . _every movement of her lips felt new. Every the slide and taste of her tongue against his.

She sighed and moaned softly into his mouth, and even managed to bring her hands up enough caress his arms for a moment.

_If I'm dreaming, please don't let me wake up!_ He begged his own mind. _I don't care, I'll die locked in my brain if she stays with me . . ._

"I missed you so much," he whispered and gasped in moments of separation. "So, so much, and y - you're here!" He pulled back and nuzzled her face.

She did have the energy to nuzzle back.

"You're really, truly here . . ." he sighed and rained kisses all over her face.

"I love you so much, Crane."

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a terrible second Crane feared she was fading out again. But it was just a combination of overwhelming feelings, and flagging energy.

She was alert enough to notice his panicked expression, and smiled as much as her face muscles could manage after their robust work. "The monitors say I'm fine, sweetheart. I'm not worried." She wagged a sleepy eyebrow at him. "I'd even order you to go down on me if there wasn't a pee tube down there."

Ichabod let out his first real full throated laugh. "Also, if your heart rate rises drastically people come dashing in to check on you." He nuzzled her face again. "And I am confident I can still affect your heart rate."

"Mmmmmmm," Abbie moaned grumpily. "I want my energy back. I really hope we're outta here soon."

**FOUR WEEKS LATER:**

By the end of the first week Doctor Connor was confident Abbie wouldn't backslide, but her motor skills and muscle tone were diminished enough to keep her from doing basic things like walking or gripping anything for long. She and Ichabod decided together that they didn't want her going home until she had at least most of her independence back.

"If I have to stop to rest on the way from the bedroom to the kitchen, that's fine, but I don't wanna go home and be carried around."

During the coma Ichabod had lifted and bent her limbs several times a week.

Physical Therapists joined in when she began to show signs of minimal consciousness, which meant exercises, and they often stimulated her legs with mild electric currents. Just enough to make the muscles tense a bit. Given all the work, functional muscle tissue was less of a problem than her motor skills. It took a few weeks of strenuous effort for Abbie to get her bearings. Make the feet and fingers do her bidding.

But in typical Abbie fashion, she worked hard and exceeded expectations.

Ichabod drove her home on December seventeenth. The whole way he did his best to focus on the road rather than get lost in a sea of thoughts like:

_She remembered me. She remembered our address. The alphabet. Her eyes work, her ears work . . . and on and on._

The details of the road? The red light green light of it all? They just barely registered enough to get them home safely.

His pulse raced as he rolled into the driveway.

He looked to his right and Abbie was indeed there in the passenger seat, wide eyed and giddy.

_Not a dream._

Part of him wanted to invite everyone they knew over for a raucous party welcome home party. Another part of him wanted to grab her that second and be, well . . . _male._

Base and unromantic as it was, by the time she hit her eighth month of coma he was making a point of avoiding the company of women he found physically attractive - and _never_ ever consumed alcohol unless Max and/or Katrina was there just in case. Yes, he could _see_ Abbie. Hold her hand and stroke her hair and such. But Ichabod was adult enough to know he did not possess a superhuman immunity to the longing for sexual contact, however much his heart wished to believe otherwise. It was an uncomfortable thing to admit, but he swallowed his pride and solicited the support of Max and Kat (and _only_ Max and Kat) as a form of insurance against a desperate, lonely moment.

_There she is and we're steps from home, _he thought. _But parties AND sex will have to wait until she's settled. _He couldn't imagine how overwhelmed she was about to be. The couch where she remembered it. Their photos on the wall. He was sure the sensory overload would be terribly intense, and require a long nap afterward.

So he was surprised - no, shocked - no _floored bordering on speechless_ - when he went around to her side to open the door and she pounced on him like a cat demanding attention.

"Mphmph," he exclaimed, muffled by the attack of her mouth as he stumbled to the side enough to shut the door. "Aambi? Wdhu rrrrr?"

She pulled back panting. "Short version: if I'm not getting laid in the next three minutes it'll be another medical emergency. You're my husband, so I figured you're a sure thing!"

The strong legs around his waist gripped tighter and she wiggled her way u until she was half a head taller than him.

_Confusion! _he thought as she went on kissing him as though his kiss was a form of life support.

He didn't know whether to be delighted and leap at the chance to end their year and a half long dry spell immediately, or be resolute and insist she take baby steps regardless of her urge.

The struggle was brief. Killing the dry spell won by a landslide.

_I may feel guilty about this later_ he thought as he threw his arms around her, one at her waist the other supporting her ass.

Thanks to long legs and a wide stride, he reached the front door in record time.

_Don't put her down! Don't put her down! _Was the thought that compelled him to stand sideways and try to unlock the door with a less than ideal view of what he was doing.

"Seriously?" Abbie whined when the keys hit the porch floor.

"Last misstep, I promise!" Ichabod said as he retrieved the keys.

He stumbled through the door unable to tell if he was pulling Abbie along, or she was pushing him backward.

"Haven't you been hallucinating our lives all this time?" Ichabod panted as Abbie frantically unbuttoned his shirt. "Why are _you_ so impatient to -"

"It felt real while I was in it," she spoke hurriedly, far more focused on clothes removal than backstory, "but now it feels like dream haze, and that is so deeply unacceptable, and anytime you wanna start helping me get clothes off that would be awesome!"

"Right!" He pulled her shirt over her head and undid her bra. "My apologies. It's been a while since I've done this."

By then they were a few feet shy of the bedroom door, but Ichabod lost the ability to walk when her warm, long absent hand slid down his impatient shaft. A moaning sigh escaped him as he fell against the wall.

Her unclasped bra was resting in the crook of her arms, and her hands left his body just long enough to let it drop to the floor.

"I missed . . ." he whispered as he lapped at her throat and ran his hands over every part of her body he could reach without forcing her to break the delicious rhythm of her stroke. "I missed you . . . " he softly repeated the sentiment again and again until the words became like a comma. Punctuation separating one needy kiss from another, each sweep of his hand over the generous swell of her breasts - a feeling he'd almost forgotten. He didn't realize how dim the memory of her specific flesh had become until he began to roam her body. The actual sensory feel of her, aroused and solicitous, had at some point gone from a solid memory to . . . an idea.

He was so lost in the thought, his eyes closed, that when her hands left him he panicked. For an awful half second considering the possibility that her waking had been a dream after all. But before he could open his eyes, her mouth closed over his aching length and took him so much deeper than he remembered her being able to.

_Was she always so phenomenal?"_ He thought as she began to move. A fast, firm sweep of her tongue at his weeping tip, then taking him into her intoxicating warmth, her tongue stopping to press and tease his tantalized flesh before traveling upward again.

_Don't cum!_ Ichabod shouted to himself. _So much more to be had, DON'T RUIN IT!_

"Stop!" he cried with frantic urgency, all but tugging her off him.

"What?" Abbie gasped as he threaded his fingers in her hair. "Am I out of practice?"

"God no!" Ichabod relied, choking back his own need. "You're indescribable, Abbie! If I'd let you keep at it there would be no stopping me and you'd have to wait." He pulled her to her feet and slid his hand beneath the waistline of her undone pants. "And I will not have my fourteen months deprived wife _wait_ for a damn thing!"

He flung them to the opposite wall with enough force to dislodge a large framed picture from its mount. He caught it before it struck either of them and chucked it aside, apathetic to the sound of breaking glass as he fell to his knees and finished undressing Abbie.

"AH!" she cried out when his tongue pressed against her clit without pause and moved in a circular motion. Her spine arched and shuddered, and she could feel every muscle in her body oscillating between slack and taught in rapid fits.

_I'm going to fall apart, _she thought as she bucked into his busy mouth, and gasped when two fingers joined the effort to unravel her.

He mewled against her wet sex and the sound enticed her core to surge and clutch at all the friction she could get from the digits moving inside her.

_She's there. Keep her there._

Luckily the job of unbuckling and unzipping him was already done so he could dispose of his pants and shoes a blink, scooping her into his arms as he kicked the garments away.

"We do this in our bed," he rumbled, his breath playing hot on her ear.

When they fell to the mattress he pulled back and took in the sight. Not just her ready body or lustful gaze. Not just her hands as they reached for him.

The whole picture. The quilt beneath her was _theirs_. The mattress under the quilt was _theirs_. The bed frame supporting this whole perfect tableau was _THEIRS._

Her legs came up and stroked his sides.

"Crane?" she whined. "_Crane . . ."_

Before she even finished saying his name he was stretched over her body and aligned to bury himself in her.

She pulled him into a needy kiss, still re - discovering the way they fit together. The push, flick, and sweep of tongue against tongue. Nipping teeth. Breath drawn quick to avoid breaking contact. Quiet sighs and playful chuckles.

Her knees rose up in a sudden jerk on either side if him when his shaft began to slide through the length of her center, occasionally dipping just _slightly_ inside her.

"Ah, ah, ah . . . " she chanted as he used the teasing thrust of his hardness and determined thumb at her clit to keep her suspended on the precipice of orgasm.

Before the thick of the Apocalypse descended upon them they'd been too . . . _married_ most of the time to worry about things like cumming together. Always awesome when it happened, sure, but they didn't regard it as the ultimate measure of their sex life.

However Ichabod had done the math, and the last time he and Abbie had sex was over the phone. Their last time in person was a month before that. Adding it to the month Abbie spent recovering her motor skills, he and his wife hadn't made love in nearly two years. Just weeks shy of two years, in fact. So while he knew she'd still be fully satisfied if he came inside her and spent the next several minutes licking her clit, he made the elusive mutual orgasm his goal.

The rippling muscles of her depth tempted him to discard the goal and stick to normalcy, but he fought against the the desire. Two years without intimacy was an extraordinary a burden for a couple, he felt the celebration of its end should be equally extraordinary.

Not _normal._

In the framework of this goal, his body's thirst to end the drought worked in his favor. He'd been consciously holding back, and could easily let himself go at any time. All he had to do was wait until he'd driven Abbie to the highest peak of orgasm, and he was free.

_She's close . . . seconds away . . ._

Her chant went from breathy, to loud, to gasping, and back again in unmeasured turns.

"Crane, n - n - now, now, now, _noaaaaaaaah, ah! **Ah!**_

_Go!_

He let himself drive into her and fuck relentlessly as her legs splayed wide and her hands gripped his waist, her walls tensing and shivering as she came.

And came.

And came.

Her body was welcoming as he remembered but a hundred times more eager. Her shuddering climax surrounded his rigid length, pulling tight as he chased his own pleasure through her body.

His thumb went on diligently servicing her clit while the other hand fisted in the blankets next to her shoulder.

_"Abbie!"_ he cried.

"Cum," she whined in response. "Want, w . . . want y -"

The rest of her plea fell on deaf ears as he released with a force that can only be described as violently tender - an obvious contradiction in terms but fitting to the act.

The bed lurched and groaned as it hadn't in all the time he and Abbie had been separated. It never occurred to Ichabod to miss the sound, but suddenly he loved the bed's participation. As if it too celebrated the return of real and joyful sex to its existence.

Angles changed. Positions changed. Arms flung and hands clenched, thighs and shoulders and spines wracked themselves to pieces, and in the end Abbie was straddling Crane's lap riding out the last of his hardness as it faded.

Crane nipped and kissed and sucked at the elegant line of her collarbone, and equally elegant throat. His sweet attentions went on long after he withdrew from her, and she snuggled into contact, stroking his back and exhaling quiet, happy sighs.

The next morning they were drinking coffee in bed when Ichabod's phone beeped.

"Oh my . . . " he muttered. "I completely forgot . . ."

"Hm?"

"Well, you've made your recovery just in time to attend our favorite Christmas Party." He showed her the evite. "It's next week."

"Mmmmmmmmm." Abbie purred. "What should I wear?"

"Oh, we're getting you something new." Crane replied. "I insist."

_Interesting. _

"You want me in a new dress?"

A dark chuckle rumbled out of his throat as he took Abbie's coffee mug and set it on the bedside table.

"I want you," he pulled her into his lap. "In a new dress . . ." he peppered her throat with light kisses and guided her hand down between their bodies. _"And_ a new dressing room."

"Oh yeah?" She breathed as she massaged him to full alertness. "What am I gonna do in there?"

"Mmmmmmm," he sighed. "Not sure yet - oh, I have missed your talents Abbie," he remarked in response to her bold stroke. "You seemed rather eager to go to your knees the other night, so that's a must. The rest . . . I'll decide on the way there."

"Good plan," she whispered as she lowered herself onto him.

They were in the car a few hours later.


End file.
